All I Want Is You
by DarkAngelElektra
Summary: SEQUEL TO YOU WERE MEANT FOR ME Now on different brands, Dave and Elektra struggle to maintain their relationship-until an act of betrayal tears them apart. Devastated, Elektra seeks revenge-but soon risks destroying everything...including herself.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**A/N: As I promised, here it is: the sequel to You Were Meant For Me. I don't usually apologize for my fics (I rate 'em M for a reason), but this story is definitely a little bit darker than its predecessor. There's going to be mention of things like depression, suicide, and probably two or three others that I haven't hammered down into the plot yet. Also, I'm going to be talking about the passing of Eddie Guerrero (RIP), so if you think that this or the other things I've mentioned will offend you, then I don't recommend that you read this. This is my cautionary note, so...don't say that I didn't warn you.**

**A/A/N: This fic takes place from July 2005 to November/December 2006**

**Disclaimer: I own none of the people, places, events, etc. associated with WWE. That all belongs to Vinnie Mac. The only person I own is Elektra, so, you know, don't steal her or anything.**

**Read, review, but please, most importantly--ENJOY! Peace!**

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**All I Want Is You**

Prologue: The End of the Beginning

_July 4__th__, 2005_

When she woke up that morning, Maria Kanellis had no way of knowing that by the end of the night, she'd be kneeling in a pool of blood.

In fact, up until the catastrophe occurred, the backstage reporter thought that it had been a fairly good day. The evening's broadcast of Monday Night Raw from Sacramento had been relatively low-key (with the exception of Shawn Michaels super-kicking the immortal Hulk Hogan in the face right before they went off the air). Maria's only interview that night had been with Raw's newest draft pick, Chavo Guerrero. Eddie's nephew, however, was less than receptive to being interviewed, and it had taken all of Maria's self-control to stay in character and not hit him over the head with her microphone when he mocked her Greek heritage and called her stupid. That was the problem with draft lotteries; inevitably, you had to get used to working with a new group of assholes.

The notion brought a smile to the backstage reporter's lips as she stretched out on one of the hotel room's double beds, flipping idly through a fashion magazine. She had changed out of her low-cut Diva attire into a tank top and pajama pants, and was now waiting for Elektra to get out of the bathroom so that she could grab a quick shower before going to bed.

At the thought of her roommate, however, Maria's smile slowly faded, her expression now filled with a wistful sadness. That was the other problem with draft lotteries: sometimes, they took you away from the person you loved the most.

Last week, it had been announced that the final SmackDown draft pick would be the World Heavyweight Champion, Batista. Since the Animal had just successfully defended his title against Triple H inside Hell in a Cell less than twenty-four hours before, the revelation came as a complete shock to everyone. But it was no secret that the person most devastated by the news was Batista's fiancée, Elektra.

Over the last couple of days, the gray-eyed Diva had been a pale vestige of her normally cheerful, vivacious self. She hardly spoke, and rarely smiled. Just seeing her friend in such obvious misery made Maria's heart ache. She didn't know what she could say to ease the other Diva's pain. After all, Batista and Elektra had been on the same brand for a year and a half; they had met her very day on Raw. To suddenly go from that comfortable intimacy to essentially a long-distance relationship—Maria couldn't pretend that she had a clue of what the silver-eyed Diva was going through. The best she could do was provide support and hope that, in time, her friend would go back to being her old self again.

The backstage reporter looked up, her green eyes fixing on the closed bathroom door. Elektra had yet to emerge. Maria glanced over at the digital clock on the nightstand.

_12:52 A.M._

Almost forty-five minutes had elapsed since the gray-eyed Diva had gone into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. _Guess she's taking one hell of a long shower_…Maria mused to herself, then frowned as she ran over the words again in her mind. Elektra was a courteous person by nature; if she felt the need to unwind with a long hot shower, she usually waited until everyone else had finished in the bathroom.

Raw's backstage reporter shook her head. _After the week E's had, she's entitled to be a little rude…_ But this internal reassurance did nothing to dispel the thought—or an increasing feeling of unease. Maria slowly pushed her body up into a sitting position, her doll-like features assuming an expression of worry. She could feel a tingle at the back of her neck. Something was not right—but what was it?

She stood, walking over to the bathroom. Stopping in front of the closed door, she paused, listening for a second or two. All she heard was the sound of running water. The backstage reporter hesitated, then raised her hand, tentatively rapping on the door. "E, it's Maria," She immediately winced at her obvious observation. _Who the hell else would be out here? Gene Snitsky?_ "Listen, are you almost done in there? My hair's feeling really gross and I'd really like to wash out the arena dirt."

Maria stopped, and listened a second time. There was no answer. The backstage reporter knocked again, harder this time. "E? Can you hear me?" No response, only the gurgle of water in the drain. Maria felt the tingle at the back of her neck again, and all at once, the revelation that had been itching at the back of her mind came crashing down into full awareness. The running water; it wasn't coming from the shower…but from the _sink_. Elektra should have been able to hear her—so why wasn't she answering?

Images flashed across Maria's mind; the sadness in Elektra's pale eyes, the silence, the self-imposed distance between her and the rest of the world since Batista had been traded. As she stood there, frozen in that moment of dawning awareness, a snippet of conversation between her and Elektra played out in her head, one that had taken place only an hour or so ago…

_Maria glanced across the Formica table at the gray-eyed Diva, who was picking half-heartedly at the sandwich in front of her. The backstage reporter's face creased in concern._

_"Talk to me, E. What's going on?"_

_Elektra looked up, startled, then smiled sadly. "Nothing, 'Ria; just…thinking about a few things."_

_Maria took a sip of her Diet Coke. "Anything you want to share? You know you can always talk to me."_

_The silver-eyed Diva shook her head. "No…I'll handle it."_

_I'll handle it…_

_I'll handle it…_

Maria's green eyes widened in horror, and she took a small step back. Raising her hand, she pounded on the closed door with her palm as hard as she could. "E? _E_! _Elektra_! Come on, answer me!" The silence that greeted her cries was terrifying. The backstage reporter tried to turn the handle, but the door was locked.

Moving back into the room, Maria grabbed her purse off the floor and, without ceremony, dumped its contents out onto the bed. After a moment or two of looking, she located the object of her search: a long metal nail file. The bathroom door may have been locked, but Maria had had the exact same locks on the door of her first apartment, and had used this trick whenever she forgot her keys. Upon second thought, she grabbed her cell phone as well.

The backstage reporter dashed over to the door, not really knowing _why_ she was rushing; only that she _had_ to rush. "E, if you can hear me, I'm coming in!" she announced, not even trying to hide the concern and fear in her voice. "So if you're naked or anything…sorry!" She jammed the nail file into the keyhole and twisted it sharply to the right. She heard a metallic CLICK as the lock popped open. Grasping the door handle, Maria took a deep breath and opened the door. Her heart almost stopped when she beheld the sight inside.

The first thing she saw was the blood. It ran down the curve of the sink in tiny red rivulets, it glistened in drops and pools on the countertop, it dripped slowly down off the edge of the counter onto the floor. Maria's eyes—the only part of her body still capable of movement—travelled downward, taking in more of the scene. Elektra lay on the floor, her skin as pale as the tile beneath her. Her eyes were closed. A blood-stained razor blade lay a few inches from her outstretched hand.

Both of her wrists had been slit.

Maria screamed, but didn't faint; briefly grabbing onto the doorframe for support. Time seemed to stretch out before her, the faintest movement slowing down into almost nothingness. She was vaguely aware of running into the bathroom, grabbing a towel off the rack, kneeling down and pressing it against her friend's slashed wrists. She knew that it had to have been fractions of seconds, but it seemed like hours. She felt like she was moving through a thick viscous fluid, one which hindered her motions.

With her free hand, she punched the numbers 9-1-1 on her cell phone almost hard enough to break them. Maria cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, using both hands to hold the towel in place. As soon as she heard a voice on the other end, she began talking, not even giving the operator a chance to say his usual spiel: "Hello, 911? My friend just tried to kill herself! She cut her wrists—there's blood everywhere—I don't know how much she's lost!" She rattled off the address of the hotel and their room number, before adding: "Just get over here! I don't care if you have to break down the goddamn door!"

As soon as the operator hung up, Maria shrugged, letting the phone fall on the floor. She paid it no mind; all of her attention was on Elektra. She didn't know if the silver-eyed Diva was alive or—No. She would not even entertain that as a _possibility_.

The backstage reporter could feel liquid soaking into the knees of her pajama pants. The front of Elektra's clothes was splattered with blood. All the color seemed to have been drained from her face. Maria grimly pressed down on the towel, refusing to let go, refusing to believe that she was acting in vain.

The gray-eyed Diva moaned suddenly, stirring a little on the floor. It was a soft weak sound, but it was a sound nonetheless. Maria felt a small twinge of hope, the tension easing slightly from her body. "E? Can you hear me?"

Elektra moaned again, her lids cracking open to reveal a sliver of white and gray underneath. She struggled to focus on the figure above her. "'Ria? Is…is that you?"

The backstage reporter almost wept with relief, biting her lip to hold back her tears. She could break down once the paramedics got here; until then, she had to be strong for Elektra. "That's right, it's 'Ria. Don't worry, the paramedics are on their way."

The silver-eyed Diva blinked a few times, her mouth moving as she tried to form words. "'Ria…I'm sorry…I'm just…just so…sleepy…" Her pale eyes closed, the breath exhaling from her mouth in a soft sigh.

Maria leaned over her friend, the transient hope in her morphing into fear. "No, E, come on, you have to stay with me, okay?" She pressed the towel harder against Elektra's wrists, ignoring the red that was starting to bleed through the terrycloth. "Hang on, Elektra, okay? Just hang on!"

"Just hang on…"


	2. Chapter 2: Still Haunted

**A/N: Okay, I want to start out by apologizing to everyone who's read so far. It was certainly NOT my intention to post an opening chapter where the main character tries to kill herself and then wait two weeks to post an update. Unfortunately, that's what DID happen, and I am very very sorry. I blame it on the holidays. Anyway, here is the next chapter, and I will try my HARDEST to get them out faster than this. Once again, very sorry.**

**Thank you to **SandraSmit19, Nastygrl25, coolchic79260, AshlynnxHearts, PepaMynt, wwwdivaxxx, Animal Luvr 4 Life, **and **Jemima Flute **for reviewing the first chapter! Your feedback is so encouraging, and I really really thank you for it! You are all AWESOME!**

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Chapter 1: Still Haunted

_October 3, 2005 - Three Months Later_

With a strangled shriek, Elektra awoke, sitting up with a start, clawing at the empty air in front of her as though fending off invisible enemies. For a few awful moments, the trappings of the nightmare continued to press down upon her, suffocating her—then, with the evanescent quality of smoke, they abruptly melted away into nothingness.

The silver-eyed Diva froze for a second or two, slowly taking in her surroundings as though doubtful of their validity. It was dark, but she could still make out the general outlines of furniture—a chair, the television, possibly a desk of some kind. Far off to the left, pale yellow light spilled out from beneath a door, probably the one leading out to the main hallway. She was safe and secure in her hotel room, precisely where she had drifted off into a troubled sleep only a few hours before.

Elektra took a deep breath, covering her face with her hands as she struggled to fully disengage herself from the dream world. Her heart was racing so fast that it felt more like a hum than a series of rhythmic beats. She brought one arm down, grabbing a handful of sheets and balling it up in her fist. With the other, she wiped the sweat from her forehead. Amazing: it wasn't even hot in the room and she was perspiring.

_It was just a dream…_she silently assured herself. _Just a dream_… Unfortunately, her body seemed to think otherwise. Her heartbeat hadn't slowed down; if anything, it was pumping even harder. Her breath tore in and out of her lungs relentlessly. Her slender frame shook, gripped by a tremor from within. The gray-eyed Diva crossed both arms over her chest, hunching over as she reiterated her earlier assertion: _It's just a dream…it's just a dream…_

Eventually, she realized that peace was not going to come so easily, and stretched her left arm out toward the nearby nightstand. Her groping fingers encountered a number of things: the phone, a paperback book, the smooth wood surface of the nightstand—everything but the small pill bottle with her name on it.

Her hand twitched, hitting a water bottle and knocking it off the nightstand onto the floor. It made a dull TWACK as it connected, and Elektra heard the sound of liquid sloshing. She cursed under her breath, hoping that the cap was still on. Where _were_ her pills?

"Whuah?" A few feet away in the bed next to her, she heard the sound of soft sleepy groans and limbs sliding against sheets. "Elektra? Are you up?"

The silver-eyed Diva grimaced. _Crap_. "It's nothing, Trish," she replied, trying to keep her voice low. "I'm fine; go back to sleep."

More sounds of shifting. "Hang on; I'll get the light."

"No, wait—" Elektra tried to protest, but before she could finish the sentence, the light flared up, momentarily blinding her. A very sleepy Trish Stratus peered back at her, her blond tresses tousled, one hand still on the lamp switch.

"What's going on?" she asked, the last word swallowed up by a huge yawn. The Women's Champion glanced down, squinting her eyes in bewilderment. "Why is there water all over the floor?"

Elektra looked away from her friend, finger-combing her long dark hair back from her face with one hand. "My bad, I was just looking for my…" Her voice trailed off as her pale eyes locked onto the small orange pill bottle sitting on the corner of the nightstand. How she had managed to miss it and still knock over everything else was beyond her comprehension.

The gray-eyed Diva reached out and snatched up the container. Her hands were shaking so bad that she couldn't remove the childproof lid at first, but after several seconds of fumbling, she managed to execute the proper combination of pushing down and turning. Popping off the lid, she tapped a tiny pink pill into her palm. Since her water was currently soaking into the carpet, Elektra swallowed the capsule dry, grimacing as a few bitter grains landed directly on her taste buds.

Trish was fully awake by now, sitting up and pushing back the covers. Wordlessly, her eyes slid from the open pill bottle clenched in her friend's hand up to her face, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the sweat glistening on her forehead. Concern flashed across her pretty face. "E," she finally said, her voice a mixture of worry and warning. "Talk to me—"

"What's going on?" Both Divas turned toward the source of the new voice. Over on the sofa against the far wall, Ashley Massaro struggled to sit up, brushing her black-streaked blond hair out of her face. She stared, bleary-eyed, at her roommates. "Why is the light on? Is it morning already?"

Elektra glanced at the digital clock resting on the nightstand.

_3:07 A.M._

Great. Not only was she losing sleep, she was disturbing everyone else's. The silver-eyed Diva kicked her covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed, rising to her feet. She still held the pill bottle in one hand. "Sorry about this, girls. Go back to sleep; I'm going outside for a little bit."

Trish was already standing as well. "I'll come with you—"

"No!" Elektra spun around, holding out her free hand. The Women's Champion was so shocked by her friend's vehemence that she froze in a semi-crouching position. Elektra's pale eyes drifted from her to Ashley, and Trish couldn't help but notice how huge her pupils were. "I'm _fine_," the gray-eyed Diva insisted. "I just…I just need some air…"

As soon as the words were out, she looked away, as though ashamed by her own outburst. Her shoulders moved up and down in an almost imperceptible sigh, and she turned away from her two roommates, ambling toward the door. Her gait was unsteady, and she moved with a very slight limp.

As soon as she stepped out into the corridor and the door closed behind her, Ashley looked over at Trish. "Bad dream again?" Her tone was matter-of-fact, as though she already knew the answer.

The Women's Champion nodded absently, slowly sinking back down into a sitting position. Her eyes were fixed in the direction of the now-absent Elektra.

The 2005 Raw Diva Search winner groaned, falling back onto the sofa and pulling the blanket over her head. "I don't know about you, Trish," she declared, her voice muffled. "But I'm getting a little sick of these 'dreams'."

Trish turned her head back toward Ashley, as though suddenly remembering she was still there."You're not the only one." Her tone was still absent, as though she was talking to herself.

Ashley pushed the blanket back down to her waist, looking up at the ceiling as she talking. "It's just…_every night-- _hell, even if she _snored—_it would still be annoying as hell, but at least then I would know that she's getting some sleep. But this…" She rolled over onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow and staring over at the Women's Champion. "I mean, someone's gotta talk to her—and I don't think she's gonna talk to me."

Trish nodded, even though she still seemed to be miles away mentally. "I'll say something to her tomorrow." She looked at Ashley, registering her for the first time. "C'mon, let's shut these lights off and at least _pretend _to go back to sleep so she won't feel bad when she comes back."

"I hear ya," the rookie Diva agreed amicably. Trish switched off the lamp, and the two Divas lay back on their respective sleeping areas. Trish's eyes had just started to drift closed when Ashley's voice drifted through the darkness.

"I'm probably the last person who should be saying this…" The Diva Search winner hesitated a moment before continuing. "But I wish Dave was still here."

Trish bit her lip, her heart wrenching painfully within her chest at the mention of the Animal's name. "So do I, Ash," she answered, her mind returning to the tortured expression on Elektra's face. "So do I…"

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The silver-eyed Diva hugged her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth on the top step of the stairwell. Her long hair fell across her face, hiding the tears staining her cheeks. Without looking over, she reached down next to her, her fingers closing around the little orange canister. Elektra lifted it up, staring at the label dully for several seconds before tapping out another pill and popping it into her mouth.

The first pill had already started to take effect, but not enough. She was no longer hyperventilating and her heartbeat had returned to normal, but she could still _feel _things. Right now, the world was too hard, too bright, too violent. Elektra wanted to be numb, wanted to dull everything down to a dreary grayness. She could sleep better when it was gray.

The nightmares didn't come when it was gray.

As though to remind her of their power over her, memories of her latest nocturnal torment swarmed through her mind, jabbing into her vulnerable psyche with their sharp needle-like edges. Elektra squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the recollections back before they could take root again, but she couldn't stop a few of them from filtering through: a room, a face, a voice—

_It's called quid pro quo, Elektra…_

--And with it the loathing, the fear…and the shame. Always the shame.

The gray-eyed Diva bowed her head, her eyes drifting back open. With her right hand, she traced the thick white scar bisecting her left wrist. There was an identical one on her right wrist as well, ugly harsh reminders of her inability—both to die…and to live.

A tear rolled down Elektra's cheek, followed by another, and another. Her lips barely moved as she spoke, her voice a faint sigh. "Why did they have to separate us? Why did they have to leave me on Raw…with _him_?"

Then: "Dave…I need you…"

* * *

"I just checked us out, so we should be good."

Trish looked up from the open car trunk toward the approaching figure of Ashley. She smiled. "Great; let's get going. It's gonna be a long drive to Dallas."

The rookie Diva's expression grew sober and she nervously ran her fingers over the edge of her bandanna (black adorned with little pink skulls). She glanced toward the front of the car; at the figure sitting in the passenger seat.

Trish followed her gaze. "Don't worry," she spoke, answering Ashley's implicit question. "I'll talk to her, I promise." The Diva Search winner visibly relaxed in relief, and she bounded over to the back seat. Trish slid behind the wheel, and turning on the ignition, pulled the car out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

They had been traveling for maybe ten minutes when Ashley suddenly blurted out: "Can we stop? I have to pee!"

The Women's Champion glanced up into the rearview mirror, glaring at the rookie Diva. "_What_? Why didn't you go before we left?"

Ashley shrugged as though the answer was obvious. "'Cause I didn't have to go then. Look, just pull over here at the Dairy Queen; I'll run in and use their bathroom." Trish obliged, pulling into a space right in front of the eatery. The Diva Search winner leapt out of the car and sprinted in the front door.

Trish shook her head, laughing quietly to herself, before glancing over at Elektra. Her smile gradually disappeared. The silver-eyed Diva seemed to be lost in her own world, trailing her fingers in meaningless patterns over the window pane.

The Women's Champion lifted up her hand, snapping her fingers abruptly. Elektra looked over, startled, the quick burst of tension evaporating when she saw it was only Trish trying to get her attention. "Sorry, Trish…I didn't get much sleep last night."

"I know," the Canadian beauty remarked dryly. "I was awake for part of it, remember?" The gray-eyed Diva flushed, her gaze falling down to her lap. Trish stared at her for several long moments. Finally, she sighed. "Listen, E—"

"I'm _fine_," Elektra interrupted quietly, not taking her eyes off her lap.

"No, you're _not_!" Trish retorted, her tone incredulous. "You're _not_ fine, okay?" She glanced briefly out through the windshield, running one hand through her blonde hair. "I don't think you've slept through the night _once_ since I've been back." She began ticking other items off on her fingers. "We practically have to force-feed you, you're popping _pills _now, which scares the hell out of me—"

"They're for _anxiety_!" the silver-eyed Diva shot back, shooting her head up to glare at Trish. "I have a _prescription_—"

"Yeah?" Trish interjected, her voice just as harsh as Elektra's. "And how many of those things do you have to take before you can fall asleep at night?" Elektra's angry countenance sagged, and she looked back down at her hands.

The Women's Champion looked out through the windshield again. When she spoke, her tone was soft. "When I heard about what…_happened_…I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe that my best friend, my E, would do something like that to herself. If my damn back hadn't been acting up, I would have come back a lot sooner."

Trish took a deep breath, then let it all out in a sigh. "I don't _know_ what made you do it…I don't expect you to tell me _why _you did it—all I know is that whatever it is, it's still haunting you. But instead of letting us help you—you keep pushing us away. It's like…like you're shutting yourself off from the people that care about you." She looked over at Elektra. "These bad dreams of yours—does Dave know about them?"

"Yes." Elektra's voice was quiet, barely audible, and she didn't even lift her head up to meet Trish's eyes.

Trish let out a bitter laugh. "Hon, you've obviously been away from Evolution for a while, because your lying _sucks_."

"Okay, you're right; he _doesn't_ know!" Elektra brought her head up, pushing her hair over her shoulders as she talked. "It's just…I sleep a lot better…when I'm with him."

"Well, that's good to know," Trish answered wryly. "Now, if we can just get you through the other five or six days of the week, we'll be good to go." She paused for a moment. "Why _haven't_ you told him?"

"He's got a lot on his plate right now," Elektra replied. Her voice was taking on that soft apathetic quality once again. "I mean, with No Mercy on Sunday…" She trailed off when she saw the expression on Trish's face.

"You're his _fucking fiancée_!" the Women's Champion exclaimed, her tone at a halfway point between incredulous and furious. "And—forgive me for being crude—but three months ago, you were cutting yourself with intent to kill! Don't you think he has the right to know if you're waking up screaming every night?" She paused for breath, and for a second, the two Divas eyed each other warily.

When Trish spoke again, her voice was gentler. "If you want to shut me and Ash out, _fine—_but don't shut Dave out, too. That guy _loves_ you, okay? He worships the fricking ground you walk on, and he wants to share his life with you. So don't give him any more reasons to worry about you."

She saw Elektra's jaw clench, and the silver-eyed Diva turned to stare out the windshield. "You done yelling at me?" she remarked after a while.

Her reticence made Trish want to scream, but the Canadian beauty kept her cool. Instead, she replied: "For now," The two of them remained silent for several long seconds, before Trish spoke. "One more thing—" Elektra turned to look at her expectantly. The Women's Champion kept her eyes fixed on the other Diva's silvery irises as she spoke. "Does Dave know why you did it?"

She thought that she saw Elektra flinch, but that could have been her imagination. The gray-eyed Diva turned toward the windshield. "Ashley's back."

"Answer the question, E." Trish was not going to be swayed this time.

"_Yes_!" Elektra wrenched her body around in her seat, her expression full of irritation and impatience. "_Yes_, he _knows _why I _did_ it, all right? Now can we stop with the interrogation and just get the _fuck_ to Dallas?"

The Women's Champion held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay," she relented. "You win; no more questions." She was saved from any further awkward remarks by Ashley, who yanked open the rear door and climbed into the back seat.

"I'm back!" the rookie Diva crowed.

Trish looked back at her through the rearview mirror. "What the hell took you so long?"

Ashley ducked her head. "There was…a line."

"A line?" the Women's Champion repeated disbelievingly. "It's ten o'clock in the morning—at a _Dairy Queen_. And what're you doing—are you _eating_ back there?"

The Diva Search winner grinned guiltily. "Maybe."

"What the hell are you—" Trish twisted around in her seat. "Is that a _Blizzard_? You went in there and bought a _Blizzard_—and didn't bring any out for the rest of us?"

"I didn't have enough hands!" Ashley protested.

"Yeah, yeah, likely story," the Women's Champion scoffed. She stuck her hand out, palm up. "Hand it over."

"No way!" The rookie Diva held her little DQ cup to her chest protectively. "I paid for it!"

"Fuck that!" Trish exclaimed. "I'm the Women's Champion; I'm pulling rank!"

At this, Elektra burst into laughter, and Trish was so relieved to hear her friend's mirth that she forgot all about the Blizzard. Putting the car in drive, she pulled back out onto the main road. For the next few hours, the three of them exchanged stories and gossip, and Trish was heartened by the fact that Elektra seemed almost like her old self.

As she drove, though, the Women's Champion couldn't help but wonder if Dave Batista really _did_ know the reason behind his fiancée's suicide attempt three months ago—or whether he was in the dark just like everyone else. And that possible ignorance scared Trish even more than the thought of Elektra bleeding out on a bathroom floor.

Because maybe it meant that not even the Animal could protect Elektra from herself.


	3. Chapter 3: Holding It Together

**A/N: Aaah! Writer's block! Work! School! These things lead to the Dark Side! No...actually, they lead to slow updates, so sorry about the wait!**

**Thank you to **AshlynnxHearts, Nastygrl25, SandraSmit19, coolchic79260, Jemima Flute, WWECHICK24, **and** Irshbeth **for reviewing the last chapter! You guys ROCK!

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Chapter 3: Holding It Together

Trish swung the car into an empty space along one side of the expansive parking garage. She shifted the gears into "Park", killed the engine, and twisted around in her seat. "We're here!" she chirped brightly.

From the back seat, Ashley groaned with relief, taking her hands away from her ears. "_Thank God_! I was ready to stick my head out the window and wait for a semi to hit it." She looked pleadingly at the Women's Champion. "C'mon, Trish…did you really have to play that Britney Spears CD all the way here?"

Trish smiled sweetly back at the rookie Diva. "Now, Ash, you know the rules: whoever drives gets to pick the music." She glanced over at the passenger seat. "Isn't that right, E?"

For a moment, it seemed like Elektra was lost in her own little world again. But just as Trish was about to utter her name a second time, the silver-eyed Diva looked over and smiled. "That's right," She turned back toward the Diva Search winner. "Sorry, Ash."

Ashley groaned again. "You guys are _killing_ me!" she exclaimed. Holding out her hands, she pressed her palms together as though in prayer. "I _swear_, I will buy you two a frickin' Blizzard _machine_—just don't make me listen to that crap again!"

"Oh, I don't know," Trish replied. She glanced briefly at Elektra and winked. "I was thinking that, after the show, I could pull out my Spice Girls album and we could—"

"Aaaagghhh!" Ashley screamed, throwing open the car door and vaulting her body out into the garage. Trish and Elektra watched her run around behind the car, both of them chuckling in amusement.

The Women's Champion turned back toward her friend. "_You_ seem to be feeling better." she remarked.

The gray-eyed Diva nodded. "Yeah, well, I caught a nap during the trip down."

"That's good." Trish replied. For a few moments, she stared at Elektra, her eyes slightly narrowed, searching for any indication that her friend might be lying. But the other Diva met her gaze without blinking, a slight smile touching her lips. Eventually, the Women's Champion sighed, turning toward the front and cracking her neck back and forth a few times. "Well, guess I better go round up Ashley and start unloading our stuff." She opened up the driver's side door and eased herself out.

"Give me a sec; I'll help," Elektra called after her. However, as soon as Trish was out of eyeshot, the silver-eyed Diva's smile faded. She leaned back against the passenger's seat, closing her eyes and letting her breath out in one long exhalation. Ever since early this morning, sleep had eluded her. Even during the five-hour drive to Dallas, she had remained awake and alert for the entirety of the trip, feigning a nap only to block out those concerned glances Trish kept shooting her way.

Okay, maybe "alert" was stretching it a bit; "still conscious" was probably a more accurate description. The gray-eyed Diva was painfully aware that she was sleepwalking through life; going through her daily routines in a thick mental fog of unwanted memories and even more undesired emotion. Sleep…by all rights, sleep should have been a release, a temporary escape into oblivion. But more and more, her dreams were becoming just as unbearable as her waking life. Even more so, because she had no control over what her subconscious mind would choose to subject her to.

Elektra bent over, massaging her temples with both hands. She didn't know which she hated more: the fact that she was lying to Trish…or that she was getting better at it. But it was easier—easier than telling her the truth. Lying to her best friend hurt, but telling Trish the truth would also involve telling her about certain things. Things that she couldn't tell anybody.

Not even Dave.

_Especially _not Dave.

The silver-eyed Diva covered her face with her hands. When had living—just the very act of existing in this world—become such a struggle for her? That wasn't hard to answer; she could pinpoint the exact moment, a warm July night when she had first decided that she would be better off dying—

"Hey, E, are you coming?"

Elektra started at the sound of Trish's voice. "Yeah, just a second!" she called out in reply, her voice filled with a false cheerfulness that grated on her ears. "My leg fell asleep!" Grabbing onto the door latch, she pushed her door open, rotating her body around and planting both feet on the ground. Ducking her head to avoid a collision with the car frame, she stood up.

Almost immediately, a sharp bolt of pain shot up her left leg. Even though she was used to the sensation by now, Elektra still winced. It had been acting up lately, and the long car ride hadn't helped matters any. She bent her knees a few times, trying to work out any stiffness. After a while, the pain receded to a dull manageable ache and she was able to make her way slowly around to the trunk of the car.

Trish watched her progress with some concern. "How's your leg?"

The gray-eyed Diva shrugged. "A little stiff from the car ride; that's all. I just need to walk it out."

"Hey, Elektra," The two women turned toward Ashley. The rookie Diva hesitated for a second. "I always wanted to ask…how'd you hurt your leg, anyway?"

Trish and Elektra both shot each other a look, the same unspoken thought passing between them: _How much do we tell her? How much of the story do we divulge without having to start at the beginning?_ Ashley was a sweet girl, but she was still a newbie. She had yet to encounter either Triple H or Randy Orton. She didn't know about the twisted love a Superstar could have for a title belt—or the depths he was willing to sink to hold onto it.

Ashley looked back and forth between them, aware that a silent dialogue was taking place in front of her. After several long moments, Elektra glanced at the Diva Search winner, her pale eyes unblinking. "Car accident." she replied, her lips curling briefly into a wry smile. She kept her expression absolutely neutral, not allowing even the slightest twitch to betray the churning sensation in her stomach—or the sensory overload of memory flooding her brain. _The blinding headlights…the wave of heat from the engine…the rush of air past her face as she flew through the air—_

Some wounds never truly healed.

From the curiosity brimming in the rookie Diva's eyes, it was clear that Ashley wanted more information than that single terse statement. But the Dirty Diva had also spent enough time traveling with Elektra to know when to leave well enough alone, so instead of asking another question, she merely answered: "Wow…must have been a bad one."

_You have no idea…_Elektra thought to herself, but said nothing. She was holding onto her self-control with everything she had, because the memories overwhelming her now were of Triple H's arm wrapped around her throat…

She no longer feared the Cerebral Assassin, but that didn't stop the mere thought of him from making her sick to her stomach.

The silver-eyed Diva dropped her gaze, busying herself with pulling her suitcase out of the trunk, setting it on the ground, and extending the handle. She hoped that neither Ashley nor Trish noticed her hands shaking. Their luggage unloaded, the three Divas set off across the parking garage toward the arena itself.

Both Elektra and Trish had performed at the American Airlines Center numerous times in the past, so it didn't take them long to find the women's locker room. The Women's Champion entered first, followed by Elektra, with Ashley bringing up the rear. The gray-eyed Diva let out a quiet sigh of relief when she saw that the changing area was empty.

It was no secret that Elektra was not well-liked within the Diva roster, and her…_incident_…three months prior hadn't done much to change their opinion of her. Though no one would ever say it to her face, she knew that a few in particular thought that she had done it for attention. Sick as that notion was, it almost made her want to laugh, because there was nothing that she wanted less. More than anything, she wanted to disappear; to become a nonentity instead of a freak. Because that's what she was now: a freak. An object of morbid curiosity to be stared at and sidestepped and whispered about behind her back. A thing—no longer an individual, but a _thing_—to be ostracized at all costs.

The three Divas set their suitcases down, unzipping them and pulling out articles of clothing. Trish and Ashley changed into their ring attire, chatting about their upcoming Handicap Bra & Panties match as they did so. Elektra wasn't booked in a match that evening, so she simply donned apparel suitable for an on-screen Diva appearance—a long-sleeved, off-the-shoulder black minidress. The dress was form-fitting and just sheer enough to allow for a subtle distinction between lingerie and skin. To this, she added a pair of knee-high black boots, then headed to the other side of the room with her curling iron and her makeup bag. There were people available backstage to help with hair and makeup, but Elektra was a product of the indie scene—she preferred to do things herself.

She plugged in the curling iron, and while it heated up, she applied her makeup and inserted a pair of dangly earrings into her ears. Taking the now-hot styling iron, she transformed her normally straight tresses into a mass of shining dark waves, then swept it back from her face and pinned it up stylishly. The gray-eyed Diva took a step back, studying the final product of her labors in the mirror.

The figure reflected back at her looked like the epitome of a WWE Diva—beautiful face, curvaceous body displayed to its best advantage. But to Elektra, she felt like she was staring at a corpse, and that all of the outward adornments—hair, makeup, outfit—were just there to mask her internal decay.

_Stop it…_she told herself sternly, planting both hands on the edge of the counter and leaning forward. She squeezed her eyes closed, blocking out the image of her own reflection. _You survived that night…you SURVIVED…and you have everything to live for…a great career…caring friends…an upcoming marriage to a wonderful man who loves you…_

So why did she always feel like she was on the verge of losing it all?

The sound of the door's hinges creaking snapped her out of her reverie. Elektra's eyes flew open and she straightened up. Unconsciously, she tugged the sleeves of her dress a little further down over her wrists. She didn't turn around, but instead pretended to be engrossed with her reflection in the mirror, using her fingers to nudge aside a few errant strands of hair. After a moment, she heard Candice Michelle's high-pitched voice exclaim brightly: "Hey, guys! I just wanted to go over our match to…" Her voice trailed off into silence, indicating that she had finally taken notice of the silver-eyed Diva's presence.

Elektra turned around. As she had suspected, Candice was staring at her with a kind of nervous distrust, as though she was an intruding fan who had somehow found her way backstage. It was the same look that most of the Divas—and a fair number of the Superstars—gave her…and it was a look that, after three months, was _really_ starting to get on her nerves.

Off to the side, Trish was watching the two of them warily, ready to interject herself should any trouble arise. Candice tentatively cleared her throat, and Elektra couldn't help but remember that the brunette Diva was one of the ones who had walked out on her six months ago, who had turned her back and more or less said _Screw you; I'm not going to trust you anymore, no matter what happens to you_… And now here she was, staring at Elektra accusingly, as if the silver-eyed Diva had opened her veins purely to spite her.

Elektra had nothing against Candice personally, but she was struck by a sudden and almost overwhelming impulse to drive her fist into the other Diva's face. The gray-eyed Diva pressed her hand against her side, feeling her nails digging into her palm. "_Please_," she drawled, the sarcasm fairly dripping off her words. "Don't let _me_ interrupt you." With an abrupt motion, she stepped away from the makeup area, striding across the room. She dug around in her shoulder bag with her other hand and extracted her IPod. She glanced back up at Candice, feeling a twinge of satisfaction in seeing the brunette Diva shrink back a little. "I was just leaving anyway." She stormed toward the door and Candice drew back to avoid any accidental contact with her.

For a second or two, the silver-eyed Diva froze, weighing in her mind whether or not to call Candice out for making her personal dislike so overt. But the desire to do so quickly passed. Candice was not the first—or the only—to do so…and besides, she had no desire to fight. Not anymore. Elektra turned her head slightly, peering at the brunette Diva out of the corner of her eye. Finally, she turned back toward the door, and putting her hand on the handle, pulled it open and stepped out into the corridor.

As soon as the door swung shut behind her, Candice let her breath out in an audible sigh. She looked back at Trish—and saw that both the Women's Champion and Ashley were glaring at her. "What?" she asked, glancing back and forth between them. "What'd I do…" Her voice rapidly faltered and the brunette Diva snapped her mouth shut.

"_Nice_, Candy," Trish snapped. "_Real nice_."

* * *

Elektra walked rapidly down the hall, one hand clutching her IPod, the other pressed to her forehead. She kept her gaze on the floor, and hoped to God that she didn't run into anybody in the process. Her reputation as the Raw roster's resident crazy was already bad enough.

She ground to a halt beside a pair of black equipment crates, turning around and resting against the edge of one of them. She tilted her head up toward the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling, closing her eyes against their harsh glow. Already, her anger was dissipating, its warmth fading away and leaving her in the cold embrace of her despair. No, despair was too strong a word; despair was for people who had nothing left…and Elektra still had a lot left to lose. No, it was _desperation_ that surrounded her; that she _would_ lose everything if she didn't pull it together—but wondering with each passing day if she was really strong enough to do it.

Either way, she couldn't go on like this for much longer…because she wasn't the only one beginning to lose faith in her.

The gray-eyed Diva sighed, opening her eyes and looking back down. Lifting up her IPod, she concentrated on unwrapping the headphone cord from around the slim electronic device. She was so focused on this task that she yelped in surprise and jumped when a large arm wrapped itself affectionately around her shoulders.

"Hey! How's my favorite girl doing?"

Elektra turned toward the owner of the voice, her mouth curling upward into one of her first real smiles of the day. "Sorry to disappoint you, John, _but_—" She held up her left hand, displaying her sizable engagement ring. "I'm taken." she finished.

The WWE Champion John Cena sighed, looking disappointed. "Damn!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers in mock chagrin. "Knew I should have asked you out when I had the chance!" He glanced over at the gray-eyed Diva, a mischievous grin slowly spreading across his face. "Well, then…could I be the guy you see on the side?"

Elektra tapped her chin with her finger, pretending to ponder this notion. "You know, I was going to give that spot to Hacksaw Jim Duggan, but since you asked _so nicely_…" She paused, a playful smile lighting up her own face. "You can totally be the guy I see on the side." John burst into laughter at this, and after a moment or two, Elektra joined him.

For all the havoc that the 2005 draft lottery had wreaked on her life, the addition of the WWE Champion to the Raw roster was perhaps one of its few positives. She and John had become fast friends, and it was not uncommon to see the two of them hanging out backstage, swapping stories about life before the WWE. Elektra didn't quite understand why she felt so comfortable around the Champ. She knew that they'd had a connection ever since No Way Out back in February, when she'd been suffering from some personal guilt issues and had ended up confiding everything in Cena. John never talked about what had happened to her back in July—and never asked her to—but always managed to convey the sense that when she was ready to talk, he would be there to listen. And out of all the people she was close to, he was one of the few who could always bring her out of her melancholia.

"Just don't let Dave find out," the silver-eyed Diva added. "Because he will kick your ass—"

John grimaced. "No doubt. I saw what he did to JBL at SummerSlam—believe me; the _last_ place I want to be is on your fiancée's bad side." Despite all their teasing, both Cena and Elektra knew that there was a well-defined line between joking and flirtation—and that line should never be crossed. The WWE Champion might joke about being her boyfriend, but in reality, he knew that honor belonged to Batista—and he had always respected that.

As though sensing that he was treading close to that boundary, the Champ changed the subject, glancing down at Elektra's IPod. "So…what do you keep on that thing, anyway? I always wanted to know…" Before the gray-eyed Diva could say anything, he snatched the electronic device out of her hand, moving over to the other side of the hallway while he scrolled through the menu.

Elektra's mouth dropped open. "You _jerk_! Give it back—" She pushed herself off the equipment crate, snatching at the IPod, but John held it easily out of her reach, reading off names as he did so.

"Let's see…Zombie, Zombie—lot of Rob Zombie on here—Disturbed, Saliva—" He stopped. "Holy crap, you've got the New Kids on the Block on here." The WWE Champion looked down at her, grinning. "I didn't know you were a Block Head."

"I'm not!" Elektra protested unconvincingly. "My sister put it on there at Christmas—"

"Oh, sure, _blame _it on _your sister_," Cena interrupted. "I always knew you were a closet Donnie Wahlberg fan." Taking one of the ear buds, he inserted it into his ear, while selecting the album on the menu screen. "Step by step, ooh baby," he sang, turning toward Elektra. "Gonna get to you, girl—c'mon, E, dance with me!"

The gray-eyed Diva regarded the Champ with amusement. "I don't know what's scarier—you knowing the words or you dancing."

The WWE Champion pretended to be wounded, putting his hand on his chest. "Aw, E, you're breaking my heart! C'mon, let's go!" He moved closer to her, shuffling back and forth in an improvised version of the Carlton dance. Elektra couldn't help herself; she burst out laughing, clapping both hands over her mouth. John smiled, his mission obviously accomplished.

"Hey, guys, whatcha doing?" The Champ and the silver-eyed Diva turned to see Maria standing next to them, smiling. Cena quickly pulled the ear bud out of his ear, handing the IPod back to Elektra.

"Nothing really," he admitted. "Just having a little NKOTB flashback."

"Oh, I _love_ the New Kids!" the backstage reporter replied, her voice brightening. "I have them on my IPod; I listen to them all the time." She glanced at Cena, and Elektra couldn't help but notice the puppy-like adoration in her green eyes as she stared at the Doctor of Thuganomics. She didn't know how Cena felt about Maria personally, but the Champ would be wise to find out, because it was painfully obvious that Raw's backstage reporter had a crush on him.

Maria moved her gaze back to Elektra, clearing her throat. "Listen, E, I can't find my cell phone; I think I might've left it in the car. Do you mind going back with me to the garage so I can look for it?"

The gray-eyed Diva nodded. "Sure, no problem."

"Can I tag along?" the Champ interjected, slinging an arm around each of their shoulders.

"Sure!" Maria chirped, gazing up at John affectionately, and Elektra almost wanted to kick the Champ for being so oblivious. The three of them started off down the hall in the direction of the parking garage; Maria and Elektra in front, with Cena following behind. The backstage reporter chatted almost non-stop and the silver-eyed Diva listened to about half of it, nodding whenever she thought it appropriate. Maria's exuberance and excitability sometimes irritated Elektra, but she let it go. Maria had been there for her when a lot of the other Divas hadn't been willing to make the effort.

More than that, she had saved Elektra's life…and that was something the gray-eyed Diva would never even come close to repaying her for.

The narrow quarters of the corridor opened up into the wide expanse of the garage, now even more crowded with automobiles. Elektra vaguely registered what Maria was saying—"It's over there, by the red one…"—and then the rest of the world dissolved away into meaninglessness when she saw the collection of figures walking in their direction from several yards away.

It was a group of Superstars, comprised of some of the SmackDown brand's biggest names. But all of Elektra's attention, all of her _focus_, was on one individual, the Superstar leading the pack—the love of her life, her fiancée, the World Heavyweight Champion Dave Batista.

The gray-eyed Diva stopped so suddenly that Cena almost ran into her. For a moment, her heart stopped, then resumed its rhythmic beat, pounding so hard she thought it was going to burst out of her chest. She touched her face, trying to reassure herself that she was really here and this was really happening.

Across the way, the Animal halted as well, the other SmackDown Superstars almost falling over one another in their attempt not to collide with him. A second elapse as the pair stood there, regarding each other from a distance. Then Elektra broke the spell. She thrust her IPod blindly at Maria, not even looking over to see if the backstage reporter caught it. The silver-eyed Diva strode forward, not even feeling the impact of her boots connecting with the concrete floor. Batista let go of his suitcase, throwing his World title onto the ground as he came toward her.

And then Elektra was in his arms, her feet leaving the ground as the Animal swept her up into his embrace. She wrapped her legs around his waist, molding her body against his. His hands were on her back, his touch burning through her dress all the way to her skin. Batista dipped his head down, capturing her lips with his. The instant his mouth met hers, Elektra felt all of her anxiety, all of her sadness, vanish. Batista had always been her rock, her protector; his presence alone was enough to drive away the demons within herself, at least for a short while.

_This_ was the reason she was holding it together; _this_ was the reason she was still living. Because it wasn't just her life anymore, it was Dave's, too, and taking it would have meant forcing him to live without her. And she couldn't do that—because there was no way that she could exist without him.

The kiss seemed to stretch on forever, but eventually, the pair broke apart. The Animal rested his forehead against Elektra's, drinking in the subtle scent that rose off her skin. His breath was heavier than usual, and the gray-eyed Diva could feel his heart racing all the way through the various layers of clothing. Slowly, reluctantly, she disentangled her legs, sliding carefully back down to the floor. She lifted her head up, meeting Batista's eyes, and feeling her throat swell shut with emotion. Tears brimmed on the edges of her lower lashes. "I know I say this all the time," she managed to say, her voice cracking. "But I missed you,"

The Animal didn't answer at first. Instead, he took hold of one of her hands, lifting it up and pressing his lips to her palm. He let go of it, reaching out to gently cup her face. Elektra closed her eyes, feeling the soft tickle of the first tear rolling down her cheek, then the light brush of Batista's skin against her skin as he wiped it away. His voice was so low that she almost didn't hear him at first. "So did I, baby." His hands slid back to her hair, and she felt his lips touch her forehead. "So did I."

Elektra let her pale eyes drift open, tilting her head up and wrapping her arms around the Animal's neck as she pulled him down into another kiss.

* * *

Maria fluttered her hands near her face, blinking her large eyes rapidly. "Oh my God, I'm gonna cry!" she remarked. "It's just…" She paused a moment to compose herself. "They love each other so much, and they're just…they're just so_ cute_ together." The backstage reporter swiped under her eyes with her fingertips. "Don't you think so, John?"

Maria hadn't turned around, so she didn't see the pained expression cross the Champ's face—or the way he looked away when Elektra pulled Batista into a kiss. "Yeah," Cena replied after a while, hoping that the backstage reporter wouldn't hear the envy in his voice. "Real cute."


	4. Chapter 4: Damaged Goods

**A/N: Sorry about the wait; this has pretty much been the week from hell. On a good note, however, I got to meet Dave Batista on Wednesday! Woot! So, buzzed on my starstruck high, I was able to bang out this chapter! Enjoy! Peace!**

**Thank you to **SandraSmit19, coolchic79260, CenaCandiceFan4Life, Nastygrl25, ortonfanatic56, PepaMynt, **and **wwechick24 **for reviewing the last chapter! You are all AWESOME!**

**A/A/N: The last chapter was actually Chapter 2, not Chapter 3; my mistake.

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Chapter 3: Damaged Goods

Batista reached down and took Elektra's hand, feeling her fingers lace through his as they walked down the hall. He stole a look at his fiancée, drinking in the delicate lines of her features, the blissful smile touching her lips. Just like the thousands of times he had looked at her since they had met, the Animal felt a surge of love and desire so intense that it was almost painful. Elektra…she was more than just his lover, more than just his partner—she was his soulmate, plain and simple. And to think, he had almost lost her, almost lost her—

_No_. He would not allow himself to think about that, especially not now. Elektra was here, she was with him—but most importantly, she was _alive_. Being on different brands…it sucked, sure, but it was far better than the alternative of living without her entirely. Even as he tried to remain in the present, however, Batista couldn't shake the memory of the past; couldn't dispel the notion that despite Elektra's smile, there was a deep core of sadness within her that even he couldn't reach…

The silver-eyed Diva must have sensed him staring at her, because she turned her head, gazing up at him. "What?" she asked. "What are you looking at?"

The World Heavyweight Champion smiled fondly. "You." he replied, giving her hand a quick squeeze. Stopping, he leaned down to kiss her forehead, letting his lips linger against her skin. "Hmm…" he murmured contentedly. "I missed you, baby."

Elektra tilted her head up, her mouth almost grazing his. "So did I," she whispered. The Animal could almost feel her smile. "I'm starting to wonder, though…if you didn't just make up this whole story about a SmackDown six-man tag match as an excuse to see me."

Batista couldn't help but smile in return. "If I did…would you blame me?"

The gray-eyed Diva shook her head. "No." She tiptoed up slightly, just enough to allow their lips to meet. At this simple contact, the Animal uttered a low groan of need, and pushing her against the wall, took her face in his hands, kissing her passionately. Elektra felt her insides melt, and she pressed herself against him. His tongue slid into her mouth, touching hers. His hands were on her, caressing the curves of her body, and she desperately wished that she wasn't wearing this dress, that Batista would tear away the flimsy fabric and press his mouth to her bare skin…

Desperately wished that they were anywhere but this hallway.

As though the same thought had occurred to him, the Animal (reluctantly) pulled away, leaning close to her ear. "How about we find someplace more private?" he whispered, his warm breath tickling her skin. Elektra let him take her by the arm, let him lead her to the first empty space he could find; a small changing room. The World Champion allowed her to enter first, and then followed her, closing the door behind them. Elektra heard the lock snap into place, and felt her pulse race. She turned, just in time to see Batista shrug off his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair. He met her eyes and smiled; a slow lazy smile that sent heat rushing through her entire body.

The Animal advanced toward her and Elektra backed up, knowing how this little flirtatious game of theirs would end…and savoring every second of it. "So," Batista began, his voice husky with desire. Without taking his eyes off her, he loosened his tie, taking it off and sending it over to join the jacket. "How long has it been…since we last saw each other?"

Elektra felt the edge of the makeup counter bite into her back and stopped, her eyes greedily taking in the Animal as he drew nearer and nearer to her. He was unbuttoning his dress shirt now, exposing the well-cut lines of his pectorals and abs, and the gray-eyed Diva was finding it very hard to concentrate. With some difficulty, she forced her gaze back up to his face, seeing the hunger in his eyes…and knowing that it mirrored her own. "Five days," she replied, her voice trailing off into silence as Batista removed his shirt.

"Five days," the Animal repeated. He halted right in front of her, pinning her against the edge of the counter. He leaned forward, pressing both hands on the counter on either side of her, effectively boxing her in between his massive arms. Dipping his head down, he nuzzled her neck, his lips just brushing her skin. Elektra closed her eyes and moaned softly. "Five days…" Batista remarked once more, reaching down and taking hold of the hem of her dress. Slowly tugging it upward, he pulled the dress off her body and threw it aside. "_…_is _definitely _too long," he finished, bringing his face up above hers again.

Elektra didn't get a chance to respond before the Animal sealed her mouth in a kiss, one which made their embraces out in the hall seem downright chaste by comparison. He brought his hands up to her neck, sliding them back to tangle in her dark tresses, before grabbing a handful of hair and gently tugging her head back to expose the long line of her throat. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, working his way down her body inch by inch. He paused at the clasp of her bra, and after a few seconds of fumbling, succeeded in unfastening it, pushing the undergarment off to expose her full breasts.

Elektra heard his sharp intake of breath. "God, you are so fucking sexy," he murmured. He took one of her breasts in his mouth, then the other, before burying his face in the space in between. "Do you even know what you do to me, baby?" It was a rhetorical question, one which he had gasped out in the heat of passion many times before…and one which Elektra believed was mutual. Her response was to arch her head back and moan louder as Batista continued his exploration of her body with his lips and tongue, moving down to her abdomen, her navel, stopping when he reached the hem of her panties.

Kneeling down, the Animal ran his hand across the cleft between her legs, his thumb brushing the most intimate parts of her anatomy. Just this light touch was sufficient; in an instant, she was wet and ready for him. Batista paused again, reaching up to take hold of her panties and tug them down, guiding them over one foot, then the other. Pushing her legs apart slightly, he ran his hands up along her inner thighs. Elektra heard him shift position, then gasped when she felt his tongue caress her _down there_. She leaned back, bracing herself with her hands, trying to keep her legs from collapsing beneath her as Batista brought her dangerously close to the point of no return.

"Dave…" she moaned. Then, as another white-hot bolt of pleasure slammed into her: "_Dave_!" Her voice seemed louder than normal; she hoped she wasn't screaming. However, after a few more seconds, even this concern ceased to matter; all that mattered was the _feeling_. Every sensation, every ache, was building up inside of her, threatening to burst. Her body couldn't take much more of this; soon, she would lose all control…

Just when she thought that she was on the verge of release, the Animal stopped. Somehow, he always seemed to possess this finely tuned sixth sense that told him when she was about to orgasm. Sometimes, after bringing her to the point of climax, Batista would hold off, teasing her with kisses until she was practically begging for him to continue. But it seemed that after five days, the World Heavyweight Champion was in no mood for teasing; as he rose to his feet, Elektra could already hear him unfastening his belt.

Batista lifted her up onto the counter, pushing her legs apart and wedging his body between them. Elektra felt the tip of his erection touch her, then, with tantalizing slowness, he slid his full length into her, filling her. The silver-eyed Diva gasped, bringing her arms up around his back, digging her nails into his skin. Batista gripped her ass as he pushed himself even deeper into her. Their hips merged, moving together in a rhythm that only their bodies understood.

The Animal's mouth was on her neck, his tongue trailing across her skin. He lifted his head, gazing into her eyes. Elektra's pale irises were cloudy with desire. Batista could feel her whole body shuddering, her self-control hanging by a slender, soon-to-be-severed thread. "Dave…" she managed to gasp. "I love you…" Then the feeling eclipsed her and she was gone, her silvery eyes rolling back into her head, her body arching toward his, moans of ecstasy escaping from her mouth.

In that single exquisite second, Batista studied her, his eyes sweeping over every inch of her nude body, her long hair brushing the countertop, her eyes drifting shut as she relinquished herself to passion. "I love you too, baby," he whispered, before desire overtook him as well.

* * *

The door opened and Batista stuck his head out, looking first to the left, then to the right. Satisfied that the coast was clear, he stepped out into the hallway, followed closely by Elektra. The couple was fully clothed, though slightly disheveled; the Animal was hurriedly tucking his shirt back into his pants, while Elektra was tugging at the hem of her minidress, trying to coax her tousled hair back into its former coiffed appearance. She glanced up at Batista, an amused smile slipping onto her face. "Do you think anyone heard us?"

The World Champion lifted one eyebrow, grinning back at her. "What, like that time a couple months ago when we walked out of a room like this, only to find about ten other Superstars crowded around the door, all of them trying to pretend like they _weren't_ listening?" He took hold of her hand, gently pulling her to him and wrapping both arms around her waist. "At this point, I don't really care." He leaned down, gently kissing the tip of her nose. "Damn, E, you were incredible tonight."

Elektra leaned back in his embrace, running her hands up his chest. "You weren't too bad yourself."

Batista chuckled, pulling her closer. "You sound unsure, baby." He lowered his voice. "Maybe I need to take you back in that room and lock the door again."

Elektra laughed, a husky burble of amusement. She gazed up into the Animal's rich brown eyes, and the sound died in her throat. Batista's tone might have been joking…but the desire in his gaze wasn't. The pair leaned toward one another, their mouths about to meet in another kiss—and then pulled back in surprise as a familiar voice boomed from the other end of the hall.

"_There_ you are, _homes_!" The couple turned to see the solidly built figure of Eddie Guerrero hurrying toward them, a warm smile lighting up his bearded face. The SmackDown Superstar reached their sides, slapping Batista affectionately on the back. "I've been looking everywhere for you, _ese_. Everyone's looking for you—JBL's about to pitch a fit—" Eddie rolled his eyes, indicating that this was a frequent occurrence. "Finally, I said 'Maybe Dave's gone off to spend time with his _mamacita_.'"

Latino Heat glanced toward Elektra, as though noticing her for the first time. The gray-eyed Diva saw the twinkle in his eye, and couldn't keep a smile off her face. She knew what was coming next.

Eddie elbowed Batista in the ribs. "Psst! Dave!" he whispered loudly. He shot his gaze toward Elektra. "Is _this_ _your_ _mamacita_?"

Batista glanced at the silver-eyed Diva, a tender smile spreading across his sharp features. "Yeah…yeah, she's mine." His voice was quiet, but even the low volume couldn't mask the affection in it.

Eddie rolled his eyes back over to Elektra, making a big show of looking her up and down. He looked at Batista. "Just between you and me, _homes_…" He stopped, noticing that Elektra was still watching, and put his hand to his mouth, whispering even louder. "_Not bad_!"

At this, Elektra laughed, clapping her hands together. This little exchange had actually taken place the first time Batista had introduced her to Eddie, and since then, it had become a kind of tradition any time they were together; a private joke just between the three of them. Eddie looked her way and grinned, stepping forward to hug her warmly. "Hey, E, how's it going?"

"Same as always," Elektra replied, returning the embrace. "How are Vickie and the girls?"

"Good, good," Eddie answered, bobbing his head in a nod. "We're all good." He stepped back, glancing briefly at the Animal. "You still keeping Dave in line, E?"

Elektra shrugged. "I try my best," she joked. "But…look at him! He's the World Heavyweight Champion! How can I possibly tell him what to do?"

Eddie chuckled. "Don't sell yourself short, E. Even when I was WWE Champion, Vickie still made me take out the trash—"

"_Excuse me_!" The strident male voice cut across their conversation. The two SmackDown Superstars jumped; Elektra merely flinched, squeezing her eyes shut. For a second or two, she entertained the wild hope that the voice had just been a figment of her imagination. But when she opened them and turned around, the unmistakable figure of Eric Bischoff was glaring back at her.

The Raw General Manager crossed his arms over his chest, still scowling. "What are _you_ _doing_?" he spat.

Elektra shrank back, wanting to disappear, wanting to become invisible, insignificant. As she did, both Batista and Eddie stepped forward, shielding her and staring back at Bischoff with absolutely no intimidation. "We're just here to wrestle a match, Eric--" the Animal began, but the General Manager cut him off, waving his hand impatiently.

"Yes, yes, I know all about your little tag match; _Theodore Long_ just informed me of the good news." He spat out the name of SmackDown's GM as though it had a bad taste. "Just so you know…I'm allowing this match only under orders from Mr. McMahon. As far as I'm concerned, you and the rest of your B-show friends can go back to Friday nights, where you _belong_." Elektra felt Batista bristle at this insult and grabbed his arm, praying that he wouldn't do anything stupid like decking the GM.

Unfortunately, this small movement was enough to draw Bischoff's attention back to her. The Raw General Manager pointed at her, singling her out from the midst of her two protectors. "I was actually addressing your girlfriend here—"

"Fiancee," Batista corrected through gritted teeth.

"Whatever." the GM replied, shrugging nonchalantly. He fastened his stare on the gray-eyed Diva once again. "May I ask _why_ you're out here getting all chummy with a couple of _SmackDown_ Superstars?"

Elektra held up her hands. When she spoke, her tone was quiet…but Batista thought he caught the slightest glimmer of fear. When had Elektra suddenly become afraid of the General Manager? "Look, Mr. Bischoff—" _Mr. Bischoff_? "It's just…I haven't seen Dave in a while, and I figured…since I'm not booked in a match—"

"You _figured_?" Bischoff reiterated, his voice somewhere between incredulous and mocking. "Well, you _figured wrong_. Since the doctors have cleared you for wrestling…and since you _obviously_ have nothing better to do than chat up wrestlers from _SmackDown_—I'm putting you in a match." He paused, probably for dramatic effect rather than breath. "That Handicap Bra & Panties match tonight—I'm making it three-on-three. Candice, Victoria and Torrie versus Ashley, Trish…and _you_."

"_What_?" both Elektra and Batista exclaimed at the same time. The silver-eyed Diva shook her head in disbelief. "But…but…you can't _do_ that—" she sputtered.

"I just did." Bischoff interrupted. He fixed her with another glare. "_Hopefully_, ripping off another Diva's top won't prove too difficult for you."

Batista moved forward before Elektra could stop him. "You son of a bitch—" he growled.

"_Don't you touch me_!" the Raw General Manager ordered, holding up his hand. The Animal halted, albeit reluctantly, glowering at Bischoff. The GM continued. "Remember, _Dave_, this isn't your show anymore, and you sure as hell don't tell _me_ what to do. And if I want to stick your girlfriend, fiancée, whatever, in a B & P match, then that's what I'm going to do, and no jacked-up freak is going to try and tell me different." He folded his arms over his chest again, staring up at Batista with a smug satisfaction. "And just for the record…you put so much as a finger on me and I'll press charges." Spinning smartly around on his heel, Bischoff strolled off in the opposite direction without so much as a goodbye.

The World Heavyweight Champion watched him leave, waiting until the GM was out of earshot before offering his terse commentary: "What an asshole." He glanced down at his fiancée. "Seriously, baby, I don't know why you put up with him." The Animal shook his head. "Someone should say something; I'm gonna give that jack-off a piece of my mind—"

"No!" Elektra grabbed his arm; Batista was shocked at the strength of her grip. The grey-eyed Diva didn't look at him, but continued to stare down the hall at the now-absent General Manager. "I mean…" She struggled to find the words. "He's my boss; I'll talk to him."

The Animal stared at her for several long seconds, before slowly nodding his head. "All right, baby, but if you want me to back you up, you know I'm always here for you." He reached out and put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. "I just don't why he hates you so much…or why you take it. But if you say that it's none of my business, then it's none of my business."

Elektra didn't answer, but squeezed her eyes shut…hoping that neither Batista nor Eddie noticed the anguished expression on her face.

* * *

There was a soft knock on the door. Bischoff didn't look up, but continued to pore over the scripts littering his desk. "Come in," he called out.

The door opened, and Elektra stepped in. She pushed the door shut behind her, leaning against its flat surface for a second or two and taking a deep breath. Then, with legs that were visibly shaking, she made her way to the desk at the far end of the room. The gray-eyed Diva stopped about a foot from its edge, clasping her hands behind her back, staring at the bowed head of the GM. Bischoff still didn't look up, didn't acknowledge her presence in any way.

A minute passed. Then two. Eventually, the Raw General Manager lifted his gaze from the desk, as though noticing her for the first time. "Ah, Elektra, what a pleasant surprise." He did not ask her to sit down, but instead cocked his head to the side, studying her. "I can't help but notice that you're not dressed for your match."

"That's—" Elektra's mouth was as dry as dust, and she swallowed with difficulty, trying to dredge moisture up from somewhere. Her heart was racing; she could taste her pulse. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about." She hesitated for a moment, then barreled ahead, her words tumbling out over one another. "I don't understand why you stuck me in this match for no reason—"

"I don't believe that it's your job to ask questions," Bischoff interrupted, his unctuous tone grating on her nerves. Had it really been almost two years ago that she had sat in this office and listened to him make her an official member of Evolution? The General Manager slowly removed his glasses, staring at her with an unreadable expression. "In fact, I don't believe it's your job to understand _anything_…only to do _what_ I tell you, _when _I tell you to do it."

"But I don't _understand_!" Elektra pleaded. "This match—it's between those five; I've had nothing to do with it. It won't make any sense! Plus, my fiancée's here, and I don't feel comfortable—"

"You don't feel comfortable?" Bischoff repeated, his tone sarcastic. "What, you think that just because you're marrying the World Heavyweight Champion, you're too good to take your clothes off for the Raw audience?"

Elektra closed her eyes for a second, willing herself silently not to lose her cool. "No, I—"

"In fact," the GM went on, his demeanor relentless. "If you're so worried about your _fiancée_, maybe I need to bring Dave in here and discuss the matter with him—"

"_NO_!" the silver-eyed Diva screamed, leaping to her feet and grabbing the edge of the desk. Bischoff met her eyes without flinching, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "No," Elektra reiterated, her voice cracking. Tears gathered at her lower lashes, and she turned away, blinking rapidly. A long moment of silence passed before she spoke again. "That won't be necessary." She still didn't look at the GM. "I'll wrestle the match."

"What was that?" Bischoff's smarmy tone was enough to make her nauseous. "I didn't quite hear you; what did you say?"

Elektra froze for a heartbeat or two, then turned back towards him, lifting her chin up to keep the tears from spilling down her face. "I _said_—I'll wrestle the match," she stated, her voice on the verge of breaking.

Bischoff smiled, a cold rictus that had nothing resembling human warmth in it. "That's better. Now, run along and get ready. You don't want to miss your match." He turned back to his paperwork. Elektra remained where she was for a few seconds, then with a sigh, bowed her head and turned away. She had just reached the door when Bischoff spoke again. "Oh, and Elektra?" The gray-eyed Diva glanced at him, her gaze full of dull misery. The General Manager gestured toward her wrists. "Make sure…_those_…are covered up when you go out to the ring."

Elektra looked down at the offenders in question, the white scars barely visible beneath the sheer black fabric. "Yes…" she murmured, not looking up.

"Yes _what_?" the GM pressed, his voice laden with an undercurrent of steel.

Elektra flicked her eyes up, her pale irises brimming with agony and hate. "Yes…_sir_." she replied, almost spitting the words out. Bischoff didn't reply; merely smiled and motioned for her to go. Pulling her sleeves down a little farther over her wrists, Elektra opened the door and stepped out into the hall. She was grateful to have escaped the claustrophobic atmosphere of Bischoff's office…until she ran into the figure standing just outside the door.

Triple H looked down at her for what felt like an eternity, his eyes boring into hers. Even though she no longer had anything to fear from the Game, Elektra still felt trapped beneath his gaze, like a fly pinned to the wall. Gradually, the Cerebral Assassin's mouth curled upward into a smirk, and he tilted his head slightly to the side, regarding her with curiosity.

"Miss me?"

Just being around the former World Champion made Elektra physically ill, and she backed away, her expression twisting into one of revulsion. "_Hardly_." the silver-eyed Diva spat.

Triple H's expression didn't change; he continued to stare at her with a sort of amused maliciousness. "That's not what _I_ hear," he answered, his tone light. "I leave to take some time off…and a week later, I hear through the grapevine that you're carving your wrists open." He leaned forward, his blond hair falling across his face. "Now, be honest, babe, did you _really_ miss me _that much_?"

Elektra sucked in a breath. "Go to hell," she hissed, and spinning around, she stormed away from the Cerebral Assassin.

However, the Game apparently wasn't finished with her. "Yeah, that's right, run away like you _always do_!" His tone was still light, still amused, but there was a definite edge to it now. "I warned Dave that you were crazy!"

That did it. The gray-eyed Diva froze, then turned around, fixing the former World Heavyweight Champion with an icy glare. Slowly, but gradually picking up speed, she made her way back to Triple H. "You leave Dave out of this." Her voice was low and dangerous.

"Or what?" The Cerebral Assassin's tone was just as light and just as deadly. "_You'll_ kick my ass?" He let out a harsh laugh. "Babe, I _relish_ the thought. Here—" He turned his face to the side, tapping his cheek. "I'll even give you the first shot for free."

For a moment, Elektra didn't move, then with a shriek, she swung her hand up toward the Game's face. With surprising swiftness, however, the former World Champion grabbed her wrist. Instantly, Elektra brought up her other arm, but he caught that one as well. Now she was trapped, caught in the grasp of the one man she wanted absolutely nothing to do with. Elektra struggled to free herself, but the Game only tightened his grip. With his thumb, he pulled down one of her sleeves, exposing the thick white scar bisecting her wrists.

Immediately, the gray-eyed Diva stopped struggling, just as mesmerized by the reminders of her own self-mutilation. Triple H stared at the scar for several agonizing seconds, the smirk on his bearded face slowly evaporating into something hard and unreadable.

Abruptly, he released her, and Elektra stumbled back a step or two, almost falling. The Cerebral Assassin stared at her, his expression still unrecognizable. Finally, he spoke. "You can relax," His voice was clipped, cold. "I don't waste my time with damaged goods." With that, he turned away, stepping into the General Manager's office, shutting the door behind him.

For a moment, Elektra stood there, unable to speak, unable to react, unable to process this unexpected rejection. Gradually, her face crumpled, and she pressed her hands to her face, her shaking shoulders the only indication of her sobs.

From his vantage point behind a corner a few feet away, John Cena watched her weep, his expression full of anger and sympathy.

Anger at the Game, for being so callous.

Anger at Batista, who obviously didn't have a clue.

Sympathy for Elektra…who was clearly suffering in silence. Each week for the past three months, he had watched her disintegrate a little more inside, and each week, he had been unable to do anything to stop it. Well, no more.

Whatever it took, he was going to find out what was killing Elektra…and he was going to save her.


	5. Chapter 5: Tell Me Why

**A/N: Sorry about the wait; it's been a busy few weeks. Luckily, I was able to finish this chapter before my weekend got too hectic. Enjoy! Peace!**

**Thank you to **SandraSmit19, AshlynnxHearts, Nastygrl25, ortonfanatic56, Westfan, ThatGirl54, **and **wwechick24** for reviewing the last chapter! You are all AWESOME!

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Chapter 4: Tell Me Why

Trish pushed her golden tresses back from her face, her pretty features marred by an expression of irritation. "Arrgh! I can't believe Bischoff _said_ that to you!" The Canadian beauty paced along the length of one of the benches as she talked. "I mean, you're a former Women's Champion! You beat _me_, for crying out loud! It's the first time you've been in the ring in over three months—and that bastard sticks you in a Bra and Panties match? A match which—no offense, E—you've had nothing to do with until half an hour ago?"

"What an asshole," Ashley chimed in from her vantage point a few feet away on another bench.

The Women's Champion went on as though she hadn't heard the rookie Diva. "And why? Because he saw you talking to Dave? Doesn't he get that Dave is your fucking _fiancée_? That, _especially_ if he's here on Raw, you have every right to talk to him?" Trish shook her head, looking disgusted. "Seriously, what is his problem? It's as though, when Dave got traded to SmackDown, Bischoff totally expected you to break it off and give the ring back."

"Hey, but Vince McMahon _did_ say that he was going to fire someone next week," the Diva Search winner interjected. "Maybe all of us will get lucky and it'll end up being Bischoff who gets the axe."

Trish scoffed at this idea. "Fat chance. I know how the McMahons are—_trust me_; it'll be the _last_ person who deserves it."

Elektra sat next to Ashley on the bench, now changed into a pair of low-riding black pants and a white cut-off top with the word "_SEXY_" written across it in silver. She was half-listening to the argument, but making no attempt to insert her own opinion into the debate. Instead, she silently concentrated on her task: winding athletic tape around her wrists…and in doing so, covering up the hated scars. She remembered Bischoff's remark back in his office, and couldn't repress a shudder. Just the sound of his voice, that cool, slightly annoyed nonchalance—somehow, he had managed to reduce the evidence of her self-mutilation to something as trivial and insignificant as a red wine stain on a white carpet. You never would have guessed by listening to him that the silver-eyed Diva could have died—_had_ almost died, in fact.

Elektra closed her eyes, the roll of tape slipping from her fingers. Her suicide attempt had strained her relationship with Dave, had alienated her from almost everyone on the roster—but perhaps its one positive had been that it had taken her off the General Manager's radar. For the last three months, she had existed as a nonentity to Eric Bischoff, disappearing from the ring completely, and limiting her television time to almost nothing. It was barely an existence, but it was better than the alternative. Asking for anything more would have meant going to Bischoff; would have meant looking that son of a bitch in the eye and thus reminding him that he still had power over her—

And now, somehow, after months of anonymity, the General Manager's focus was back where she least wanted it: on _her_. Despite all of her careful tiptoeing, she had managed to be in the wrong place at exactly the wrong moment—and now she was going to pay for it. This last-minute addition to the Bra and Panties match…it was only the beginning. It might not seem like much on the surface, but Elektra knew instinctively (and with an ever-increasing sense of dread) that it was only going to escalate. Escalate until she was once again backed into a corner, and the only means of escape were a razor blade and the complete absence of all hope—

_It's called quid pro quo, Elektra…_

The gray-eyed Diva bowed her head, her dark hair spilling down to curtain her face. She bit her lip, hard enough to fill her mouth with the coppery tang of blood. The pain brought her back to the present, but she felt no relief. Pretty soon, the present would be as bad as the past…

"I heard Eric threw you into our match."

Victoria's strident tone forced Elektra back to the immediate now, and she lifted her head to find Raw's Vicious Vixen glaring at her, flanked on either side by Candice and Torrie Wilson. The silver-eyed Diva regarded her without speaking, nudging her brunette tresses back from her face with her fingers.

Even after seven months, there still existed a mutual sense of distrust between the two Raw Divas, ever since Victoria had branded Elektra as a liar and turned her back on her. Elektra didn't hate the Vicious Vixen for what she had done; she didn't even really blame her—but there was no way that she could ever truly trust her again. As for Candice and Torrie…Candice had already made her dislike of Elektra pretty clear, and Torrie, even though she was a sweetheart, was too timid to go against popular opinion.

Her reticence must have irritated Victoria even more, because the other Diva's eyes narrowed. "What is it this time? Are you so desperate for ring time that you have to butt in on other people's matches?"

"Watch it, Vic," Trish's voice was casual, but it held a dangerous edge. The Women's Champion crossed the room, stopping at Elektra's side and putting her arm supportively around her friend's shoulders. "None of us are happy about this…including E."

"Um-hm," Victoria grunted, sounding unconvinced. Her dark irises moved, traveling from Elektra to fasten on Trish. "I know that _I _wouldn't be—finding out that I've got a _basket case _for a tag team partner."

The Women's Champion drew in a sharp hiss of breath. "You shut your _fucking mouth_—" she spat, storming toward the Vicious Vixen and shoving her with both hands. Victoria stumbled back a step, but regained her footing and shoved Trish back just as hard. The situation was on the verge of denigrating into a catfight; Ashley, Candice and Torrie were trying to hold back the two Divas, with varying degrees of success. Only Elektra remained where she was, watching the unfolding confrontation with a strangely detached expression.

"What's the matter, Trish? Vickie steal your curling iron?"

All six Divas froze and turned toward the door at the sound of the familiar alto voice. Lita leaned casually against the door frame, one arm stretched above her. With the other, she finger-combed her vibrant hair back from her face. A satisfied smirk rested on her lips. Her brown eyes swept over the scene, taking in the stony stares of the other Raw Divas. "What?" she asked, her voice dripping with false innocence. "Is there something on my face?" Her remark was greeted with silence.

If there was one person on the roster who was a bigger pariah than Elektra, it was the Queen of Hardcore. A few months ago, Lita had shocked everyone by betraying her husband, Kane, and aligning herself with the opportunistic Edge. No one on the roster was very much surprised by the sudden turn of events; after all, betrayal was a commonality in their business. But then Lita's first love, Matt Hardy, had been fired from the company for speaking out about it…and their nonchalance had given way to dislike. Betraying the Big Red Machine…that was one thing…but betraying Matt Hardy—who had done nothing wrong—that was something else.

Since then, Lita had gone from merely disliked to reviled. No one wanted to have anything to do with her, not after seeing what she had done to the various men in her life. The fans were even worse; Lita was greeted with chants of "Slut" and "You Screwed Matt" everywhere she went. When Vince McMahon had rehired Matt at the beginning of August, the elder Hardy brother had gone on a personal vendetta against the pair that had wronged him—his _former_ best friend and his _ex_-girlfriend.

Even in the midst of her own pain, it had sickened Elektra to witness the torments that Edge and Lita subjected Matt to. From taunts to unprovoked attacks, the villainous couple made the elder Hardy's first two months back on Raw a living hell. And now—thanks to Lita's interference in their "Loser Leaves Raw" ladder match—Matt Hardy was officially gone from the Raw roster.

The silver-eyed Diva often wondered what had happened to make Lita so cold, so remorseless of her actions. Was it the result of her romance with Edge…or did the roots of her lack of feeling go further back, to the day when she had lost her baby? Elektra didn't know—and given her history with the Queen of Hardcore, she had no real desire to find out.

By now, Lita must have been completely immune to the hatred directed her way, because her smirk merely widened. Easing her body off the door, she sauntered toward the center of the room. As she watched her, Elektra was reminded of the lithe movements of a snake. The other Divas stepped back, as though the red-haired Diva exuded some kind of virulent contagion. Lita stopped in front of Trish, giving the Women's Champion's black leather ring attire a quick once-over. "Nice…a six-time Women's Champion, and you _still_ have to lower yourself to B and P matches."

"At least I'm not _you_," Trish retorted. Elektra couldn't see her face, but she could tell from the tightness of Trish's voice that she was gritting her teeth. "Getting innocent guys _fired_."

Lita shrugged, seemingly indifferent. "Hey, Matt brought it on himself."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," the Canadian beauty shot back. She crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Lita glanced at the other Divas again, as though their animosity surprised her. "Last time I checked, this was still the Diva's locker room…and I'm still a Diva."

"That depends on who you ask," Everyone, including Lita, turned in surprise when Elektra spoke. The gray-eyed Diva lifted her gaze off the bench, locking eyes with the Queen of Hardcore. "Last time I checked, they stopped letting whores backstage."

This remark evoked a soft snicker from Ashley and Torrie, who quickly stifled their laughter when Trish shot them a dirty look. Lita's mouth had dropped open when Elektra had spoken up, but she abruptly snapped it shut, compressing her lips into a thin line. "_Finally_," she spat. "_It _speaks!"

Elektra didn't even flinch. Instead, she eased her body off the bench, her movements just as smooth and subtly dangerous as Lita's. "Funny, that's exactly what I thought to myself when you walked in," she replied, her voice calm.

The other Divas gasped; it was rare to see Elektra express her opinion about _anything_ these days, let alone stand up for herself. Lita moved toward the silver-eyed Diva, getting in her face just as she'd gotten in Trish's a minute ago. "You think you're _so_ tough," she shot back in a low voice. "Tell me…if I took a swing at you right now, do you _really_ think that anyone would step in to help?"

Elektra met the red-haired Diva's glare coolly. "If I took a swing at _you_," she replied, her voice equally soft and deadly. "Do you think anyone would stop me?"

Silence followed her reply. For several long tense seconds, the two Divas eyed each other with mutual distaste. Eventually, Lita's glare gave way to a sneer, and she stepped back, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "Whatever…like I even need to waste my time." She turned to go, then looked back, tossing off one final biting comment: "You seem to be doing a pretty good job destroying yourself on your own."

At this, Elektra finally flinched. It was a small twitch…but it wasn't small enough to escape the notice of the Queen of Hardcore. The corners of Lita's mouth curled upward even further, and she strolled out the door without even bothering with a farewell.

Trish moved to Elektra's side, putting her arm around the gray-eyed Diva. "Don't worry about Amy," the Women's Champion murmured, her eyes still focused on the open door. "She's wrong."

_Is she_?...Elektra wondered to herself. She wasn't so sure.

* * *

Batista sat on a folding chair in front of the monitor, leaning forward, elbows on knees. His World Heavyweight Championship rested on the ground between his feet. He was aware that he was probably the only Superstar watching the Bra and Panties match so intently—possibly the only one watching it, period—but he really didn't care. It didn't matter if it was only a lousy B and P match; it was worth just to see his girl in the ring again.

After breaking her leg—not once, but twice—Elektra had been advised by her doctor to give up wrestling. The silver-eyed Diva had politely but firmly replied that that was not an option—once she had prevented the Animal from flipping the physician's desk over, that is. Once the cast had come off, she had worked her ass off over the next several months to get back to the level she had been at before the accident.

So many Superstars were quick to label Elektra as just another Diva; they seemed to have forgotten that the gray-eyed Diva was also a former Women's Champion. _Which she won ON HER OWN…_the Animal thought to himself proudly. _Can't blame Evolution for that title reign…_ Even Eric Bischoff, asshole that he was, couldn't ignore that.

At the memory of Raw's General Manager, Batista felt a hot bolt of rage knife through his insides. _That son of a bitch…_ As much as he enjoyed seeing Elektra compete in the ring, he knew that her insertion into this match had been meant as punishment. Punishment for what, though? For daring to smile or enjoy herself in Bischoff's presence? Or for daring to date a SmackDown Superstar? The Animal sensed that it was most likely some combination of the two.

_I just don't know why he hates you so much…or why you take it…_

He and Bischoff had never really gotten along, especially when he was Champion, and Batista wondered how much of the abuse Elektra suffered was Bischoff's way of lashing out by proxy. He couldn't touch the Animal anymore, so he had settled for the next best thing: the one person he was closest to. And unfortunately, that one person happened to be Elektra.

More than anything, Batista wanted Elektra on SmackDown, not just because he missed her, but because he wanted her away from the scheming clutches of Eric Bischoff. He wanted her to be happy; to be able to look into her eyes and not see sadness lurking in their depths…

In the ring, Elektra hit a one-woman flapjack on Torrie, hanging her up on the top rope. The silver-eyed Diva (who had lost her top earlier in the match) stripped off the Boise Belle's pants, securing the win for her team.

"Yeah!" The World Heavyweight Champion rose to his feet, clapping, a huge grin on his face. He was joined by Eddie and Rey Mysterio, who had been hovering around the monitor as well. ("But only out of support for your _mamacita_!" Eddie had added hastily.) A few of the Raw Superstars half-heartedly joined in as well, but they soon returned to their original tasks. Batista ignored them, focusing on the digitized image of his fiancée. "You go, baby," he whispered under his breath. "I'm proud of you."

After a few seconds, the three SmackDown Superstars ceased their applause, but the sound of clapping continued, coming from a singular source at the back of the room. Everyone—including Batista—turned to get a look at the lone supporter. When he saw who it was, however, the Animal's smile evaporated, replaced by a look of cold loathing.

The Cerebral Assassin moved toward the monitor, still continuing his one-man-show of approval. By now, though, the sound of his palms slamming against one another had become mocking, almost sarcastic. The Game's crudely handsome face was twisted in a smile, but there was no warmth behind his. His eyes—ever appraising, ever calculating—were fixed on the World Heavyweight Champion.

"Looks like your girl hasn't lost her touch." At this remark, Batista felt his hands clench into fists, and he almost had to force himself to keep his arms at his sides. Triple H's gaze moved from him to the monitor just behind him. Trish and Ashley were on either side of Elektra, holding up her arms in victory. Torrie's pants were draped around the gray-eyed Diva's neck like some sort of trophy. The Cerebral Assassin's mouth twitched, his grin becoming just a little bit more cruel, a little bit more sick. "I'm telling you, a win like _that_—" He raised up his hands and began to crack his knuckles one by one. "That'll put her back in the title hunt _for sure_." There was no mistaking the derision in his tone.

Batista shifted his eyes from the Game's face to his hands, to the bloodstained tape wrapped around his knuckles. There was no need to ask whose blood it was; everyone had witnessed Triple H's savage, unprovoked attack on Ric Flair; an attack which had left the Nature Boy unconscious and bleeding in the parking garage.

The Cerebral Assassin noticed the Animal's shift in focus and glanced down at his hands as well. "Shit," he remarked mildly. "Looks like I forgot to wash my hands."

Batista's expression altered slightly, closing down, becoming more inaccessible. "So it's finally happened; the end of Evolution." His tone was quiet; it was almost like he was thinking aloud. He lifted his gaze, bringing it back up to Triple H's face. "Randy, E, me…and now Ric." The World Heavyweight Champion shook his head. "And out of the four of us—Orton was the only one who deserved the beating he got."

The Cerebral Assassin shrugged. "I don't know about that; that girlfriend of yours—"

"_Fiancée_," the Animal interjected, the little muscle in his jaw throbbing.

Triple H offered another nonchalant shrug. "Whatever; she's got quite a mouth on her." He looked up, locking eyes with the World Heavyweight Champion. "You know, I ran into her in the hallway earlier," The Game shook his head, his features assuming a countenance that would have been bemused—if it hadn't been for the malice in his stare. "She hasn't changed. Still smoking hot…and still out of her mind."

Everyone—Raw and SmackDown—involuntarily moved back a step at this comment, backing out of the inevitable fight and clearing a path between the two former Evolution teammates. The Cerebral Assassin continued, his tone light, as though he had no clue of the effect his words were causing. "Tell me, Dave—do you ever wake up next to that steaming pile of hot mess and wonder: 'What am I _doing_? Why didn't I walk away when I had the chance?'"

Batista sucked in a deep breath, his mouth warping into a snarl, but he held himself in check. He had to remember that he was in Raw territory, and no matter how badly Triple H pissed him off, he still had to tread carefully. This was the Game's turf, not his…not anymore.

Instead, the Animal pointed his index finger in the direction of the Cerebral Assassin, spitting out his words in a terse growl: "You leave her alone—"

"Or what?" Triple H's reply was challenging. He moved a step or two toward the World Heavyweight Champion. "Huh? What _exactly_ are you going to do to me? Remember, _Dave_, you're not on Raw anymore; what's to stop me from doing whatever the _hell_ I _want_ to with her?" The Game's grin changed, becoming a leer. "The way I see it…you took something of mine…so I'm entitled to something of yours."

Batista lunged forward, Eddie and Rey trying their best (and slowly losing the battle) to hold him back. "You _sick fuck_!" the Animal roared. "You fucking _stay away from her—_"

The Cerebral Assassin's expression didn't change. Instead, he held up his hand in a placating gesture. When he spoke again, his voice was low and full of a thinly veiled disgust. "Easy, Dave, calm down; I was just messing with you." He looked up; met Batista's gaze. "You don't have to worry about me. See, Elektra…she's a train wreck…and unlike _you_, I don't bother with train wrecks." The two Superstars stared at each other for several seconds, before Triple H's mouth curved into that sick smile again, and he uttered one last biting comment: "But I have to ask—where were _you_ when she was filleting herself—"

Those eight little words were enough to send the Animal over the edge, and he charged the Game, his massive fist already raised to throw the first punch. But just as he was about to connect, a new figure inserted himself into the fray, forming an obstacle between the two enemies.

John Cena held out his hands, holding back the furious World Heavyweight Champion. "Whoa, whoa, hold on, Dave! Calm down! I know you're pissed off—and trust me, no one deserves a punch in the face more than this asshole—but listen to me." The WWE Champion paused for a second. "Bischoff is already looking for a reason to throw you and the rest of the SmackDown guys out; don't give it to him."

Cena lowered his voice, keeping his gaze focused on the Animal. "C'mon, Dave, think about Elektra." At the mention of his fiancée's name, the rage began to drain from Batista's expression. "Do you think she'd want you to get kicked out because of some jack-off who no one listens to anyway?"

"Excuse me!" The Cerebral Assassin's voice grated on his ears, and the Doctor of Thuganomics turned around, meeting the other Superstar's eyes without intimidation. Triple H glared at him. "Who the _hell_ do you think you are?" he growled.

Cena glanced down at the ground for a moment, his mouth curling into a half-smile. "Who the hell do I think I am? I think I'm the WWE Champion—" The Champ lifted his customized spinner belt off his shoulder, holding it a few inches from the Game's prominent nose. Cena nodded back toward Batista, still talking. "—helping out the _World Heavyweight Champion_—" He looked back at Triple H, the smile instantly gone. "—against some guy who can't get over the fact that he's _not_ the Champion anymore."

There were a few low chuckles from various areas of the room. Triple H looked around furiously, as though his angry expression still possessed the power to scare Superstars into respectful silence. Apparently, it didn't, because the soft laughter continued, the room's tension level gradually dissipating. With a few words, Cena had wrested control away from the Cerebral Assassin. The Game no longer had power—and from the grudging realization dawning on his face, he was just starting to comprehend it.

Triple H slowly moved back, his eyes never leaving the WWE Champion. "You better watch your ass," he snarled after a few seconds had gone by. "Once I end this business with the Nature Boy—_you're next_."

"I'll keep that in mind," Cena replied, his tone pleasant. The grin reappeared on his face, and he made a little wave with his hand. The Cerebral Assassin cast one last accusing look around the locker room before turning around and stalking out the door.

Cena stared after him for a moment, before turning to face the Animal again. The anger had vanished from Batista's expression and his face was starting to resume its normal color again. He met Cena's eyes, and his features relaxed into a smile. "Thanks, man," The World Heavyweight Champion extended his hand and the Doctor of Thuganomics accepted it. "If I had gotten throw out of the building, E would probably kill me," the Animal added, chuckled.

Cena forced out a laugh of his own, even though deep down, he felt like smacking Batista. _Don't thank me…_he thought, masking his irritation. _I didn't do it for you…_

A memory popped into his head; the image of Elektra standing in the hallway weeping, her beautiful face buried in her hands. The Champ felt a wave of empathy and longing course through him.

_I did it for her_…

* * *

Batista dipped his head down, capturing Elektra's mouth in a soft kiss. The gray-eyed Diva slid her arms up around his back, clinging to him as she returned the kiss. The Animal eventually pulled back, sliding his lips down her ear. "Okay, I think we're both in agreement here," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "Your GM…is a bastard."

The couple were in Batista's hotel room, his roommates banished for the evening. Both of them had changed into comfortable clothes and sat next to each other on the edge of the double bed.

Elektra was glad that Batista couldn't see her briefly squeeze her eyes shut in pain. "Yeah," she agreed, hoping that her voice didn't sound strained. "I can't believe that he turned the lights out on all of you. I mean, he didn't even let you compete!"

"Yeah, but thank God for Teddy Long," the Animal interjected. "Little thing I _forgot_ to mention to Bischoff when he was running his mouth; the six of us…weren't the _only_ SmackDown Superstars who showed up." He paused, caressing her earlobe briefly with the tip of his tongue. Elektra couldn't suppress a shiver. "I only wish…that I could have tiger-bombed the _hell_ out of that son of a bitch…for the way he treated you."

Elektra felt her insides twist painfully. "It doesn't matter," she answered with some effort. "No offense, Dave…but I really don't feel like talking about my boss anymore."

"I don't blame you," Batista pulled back to face her, his brown eyes fastening on hers. Slipping off the bed, he knelt down on the floor in front of her, running his hands up her legs, his thumbs grazing her inner thighs. Elektra smiled seductively—a smile which faded when the Animal took hold of both her wrists, pulling her arms toward him. He gently turned her wrists outward, running his fingers over the white scar tissue. He had been looking down, so she barely heard his voice when he spoke: "Baby…you know what I'm going to ask—"

The silver-eyed Diva was already shaking her head, dark hair falling across her face, tears brimming on her lower lashes. She pressed her lips together, unable to speak for fear that she would lose control of her emotions.

Batista finally looked up, and it made Elektra's heart wrench to see how anguished his expression was. "_Why_?" he whispered. There was no need to say anything else; they both knew what he meant.

Elektra stared at him for a second or two, before emotion overcame her and she had to look away. She reluctantly pulled her arms from the Animal's grip, and he let her, watching her as she rose and walked across the room to stare out the window.

The gray-eyed Diva hugged herself with both arms. It had been warm in the room when they had arrived, but now all she felt was cold. "I _told_ you," she finally said, her voice breaking. "I went…I went a little crazy…and I made a mistake."

"Baby, that mistake almost _killed_ you!" Batista exclaimed, but there was no anger in his voice, no accusation, only pleading.

"You think I don't know that?" Elektra snapped, whirling around. Just seeing the Animal's tortured countenance, however, drained all of the annoyance from her features. The gray-eyed Diva's shoulders sagged, and she bit her lip, ducking her head as the first tear rolled down her cheek. She turned back toward the window, still hugging herself. "I know that I can never stop saying this…but I'm sorry…for what I've put you through." Her voice cracked, but she kept going. "I never meant…to make you pay for my mistakes. It's just…sometimes I miss you so much—" The sorrow became too much for her and she ceased her flow of words, crying softly.

In an instant, Batista was on his feet, crossing the room to pull Elektra into his arms and hold her tight against his chest. "I'm not mad at you," he murmured. "I was _never_ mad at you. But, baby—" He pulled her back, holding her face in both of his hands. "You tried to kill yourself. _You tried to kill yourself_… and you won't tell me why."

The Animal stopped, glancing down at the floor and taking a deep breath. His gaze swung up to meet hers again. "A long time ago…we promised to tell each other everything. No matter how bad, no matter how painful—_everything_. And I ask you this question every night—sometimes over the phone and sometimes in person—and every night, you give me the same answer—and I know, _I know_, that you're not telling me the truth." Batista leaned close, until his forehead rested against hers. "E, whatever you're hiding, just tell me and we'll get through it. Please…" His voice was so soft that Elektra had to struggle to hear it. "Please…just tell me the truth."

The silver-eyed Diva closed her eyes, feeling tears course down her cheeks. Her stomach had become a painful throbbing knot; any more tension and she was going to throw up. A moment passed, then two. Finally, with a nearly inaudible sigh, Elektra lifted her head, leaning back just enough so that she could look the Animal in the eyes. "I'm not telling you because there's nothing to tell," she whispered. "I went a little crazy…and I made a mistake…and I'm sorry."

Several long seconds of silence passed. Batista stared hard at her, and try as she might, she could not discern anything in his gaze. Elektra met his eyes steadily, willing herself not to look away. Eventually, the World Heavyweight Champion sighed, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry, baby. You're tired…we're both tired. Let's…let's just go to bed." Wrapping one arm around her shoulders, he led her back toward the bed.

Neither one of them said a word, but their thoughts were far from quiet. _What aren't you telling me, baby?..._Batista pleaded silently. _What happened? What drove you to that point where you thought you'd be better off dying?..._

The silver-eyed Diva's thoughts were just as beseeching, though for different reasons.

_Please, God, don't let him find out. Whatever happens, please don't let him find out the truth…_


	6. Chapter 6: Brush With Destiny

**A/N: Finally, spring break has arrived! I didn't mean to take so long to update, but I had schoolwork, and then I was so nitpicky while writing this chapter. But it's finished, and it's posted, so...enjoy! Peace!**

**I've had a lot about comments about the unbearable suspense over what happened to E. Don't worry; your questions will be answered eventually, it's just a question of "when"...*evil laugh follows*...  
**

**Thank you to **ThatGirl54, coolchic79260, Westfan, ortonfanatic56, wwechick24, SandraSmit19, AshlynnxHearts, **and** Brie Seven** for reviewing the last chapter! Your input is really encouraging and it really means a lot to me! You guys are AWESOME!**

* * *

Chapter 5: Brush With Destiny

The first thing Elektra heard when she awoke the following morning was the soft rhythmic thud of Batista's heartbeat. The silver-eyed Diva stretched slightly, yawning, before snuggling closer to the Animal. She pressed her face against his chest, breathing in his scent. She was still half-asleep, but she was also aware of different sensations filtering through to her consciousness. The rise and fall of Batista's chest as he inhaled and exhaled, the aroma rising off of his skin, the warm pressure of his arms wrapped around her body—and above it all, the soothing sound of his heart.

Elektra could sense daylight at the corner of her vision, but she kept her eyes closed, trying to slow down the relentless flow of time, trying to hold onto this perfect moment for as long as she could. In this twilight between slumber and wakefulness, she could almost imagine that the last three months had never happened. That Batista had never gone to SmackDown…and that she had never tried to kill herself.

But no matter how hard she tried, reality always eventually reasserted itself, reminding her that things could never go back to the way they were. Elektra's scars went deeper than the surface—and no amount of sleeve length or athletic tape could hide the extent to which she was damaged. But still the gray-eyed Diva persisted, trying to slip back into the oblivion of sleep, trying to tell herself that the gradual train wreck of her life these past few months had just been a dream—

The alarm clock went off, shattering the room's tranquility with its shrill buzz. Elektra heard Batista utter an irritable grunt, and the Animal disentangled one of his arms, reaching back behind him to smack the alarm back into silence. He turned his body back toward her, once encircling her in his embrace. "Ummm…" he murmured, his voice still husky from sleep. "Mornin', baby,"

Elektra's response was a low sigh of contentment. She slowly slid her hands up over his broad chest to his shoulders, inching her body up until she was face to face with him. Her mouth curved into a smile. "Mornin'," she whispered, easing nearer to Batista, her lips grazing his.

Instantly, Batista's hands were on her face, sliding back to her hair as he pulled her into a deep kiss. His touch was warm, light, driving away the nightmares, driving away the cold and darkness within herself. Whenever she was with Dave, she could truly believe that there was nothing to fear.

With Dave, she was whole.

The Animal pulled back, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. He rolled over onto his back, pulling her on top. Elektra draped herself over his massive frame, straddling his waist with her long legs. Batista tilted his head down to get a better look at her, his face creasing in a grin. "My God, look at you," he remarked. His hands, resting lightly on her waist, slid lower to cup her ass. "I could lie here all day, just looking at you."

The silver-eyed Diva matched his smile with one of her own. "Hmmm…tempting thought," she replied. Lazily, she traced the contour of his pectoral with her finger, feeling a small thrill of excitement at hearing his breath catch in his throat. "Too bad you've got a SmackDown taping tonight, Mr. World Heavyweight Champion."

"You mean _we've_ got a SmackDown taping tonight," the Animal interjected. He chuckled at the surprise that flashed across his fiancée's face. "What? You actually thought I'd miss out on a chance to spend another day with you?" He brought his hands up to her face. Elektra closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "So how about it, baby?"

Elektra's pale irises drifted open, and a small smile touched her lips. "Do you even have to ask?" she replied. For several long moments , the lovers said nothing; only stared at each other tenderly, drinking one another in. Finally, Batista let out a reluctant sigh. "Well, guess we should get—"

His voice trailed off into nothing as Elektra sat up abruptly, stripping off her tank top and tossing it aside. The Animal's mouth moved, but no words came out. His gaze slid from her face down to the naked curves of her body. The gray-eyed Diva's smile widened. "What? You didn't think I'd let you off _that_ easy?" she whispered.

Batista's dark eyes locked onto hers again, his mouth curling into a lazy grin. "Baby, you certainly know how to get a guy's attention," he replied, the desire in his voice evident as he pulled Elektra back down into his embrace.

* * *

Elektra grimaced as sharp pain flickered up her left leg. Even though she had been training like hell from the second she had gotten her doctor's okay to do so, last night had still been her first match in almost four months. Not to mention the fact that Victoria had spent much of the bout targeting her weakened appendage. This morning, her body was experiencing the usual aches and pains that come from bouncing around a wrestling ring, but her leg in particularly was practically begging to be sawn off.

Batista glanced over, noticing her discomfort. His features creased in concern. "Baby, are you all right?" he asked. Switching his suitcase to his other hand, he wrapped his free arm around her, supporting her.

Elektra nodded, even though it felt like someone was firing a nail gun into her knee. "Yeah, I'll be fine," she replied. "Just a little stiff, that's all." She had to resist the urge to grit her teeth as she said it. Her doctor had warned her that she would probably always limp, and he had been right. But Elektra had mastered a wide range of control over just how noticeable that limp was. On a good day, when the pain wasn't that bad, you couldn't even tell that she had been injured. Today, however, the silver-eyed Diva felt as though she was only a few steps away from needing a cane and hobbling to and fro like Dr. Gregory House. At least she wasn't popping Vicodin.

More than anything, though, the pain scared Elektra; it reminded her that, even after all the months of training and rehab, she still wasn't at one hundred percent. She had yet to really test the boundaries of her own physical limitations, and hoped that she wouldn't find out what they were at the most inopportune time—in the middle of the ring with everything on the line.

Elektra's response had not assuaged the Animal's anxieties, however, because he continued to peer down at her. "Do you need me to carry you?" Elektra's head snapped sharply to the left, her pale irises narrowing as she shot her fiancée a Look. The World Heavyweight Champion's face relaxed into a smile, and he chuckled. "Hey, hey! I was just kidding!" The gray-eyed Diva elbowed him playfully in the ribs anyway. Batista clutched his side, pretending to be mortally wounded by the blow.

The two of them had just arrived at the Frank Erwin Center in Austin, Texas, for the SmackDown taping, and were walking down the hall toward their respective locker rooms. Other Superstars lined the corridor, chatting with one another, some in their ring attire, others still in their street clothes.

At first, Elektra didn't really take notice of them; she was still focused on Batista. After a while, however, she became aware of a peculiar aura of silence that seemed to surround her and the Animal. It was as though the two of them were in a bubble; animated conversations abruptly died away as they walked by, only to start up again (albeit at a quieter volume) once they had passed.

Elektra looked around, her pale eyes taking in the scene. She soon realized that almost every Superstar they passed was staring at them—no, staring at _her_. And they weren't just staring—they were _glaring_. The silver-eyed Diva's smile slowly faded, and she glanced up at Batista.

The World Heavyweight Champion had obviously noticed this silent condemnation as well, because he reached down, possessively clasping her hand in his. "Just ignore them, E," he muttered under his breath. Elektra could hear the anger lurking just behind his words. The Animal swept his gaze over the impromptu gauntlet, the little muscle near his jaw throbbing as he clenched his teeth. Elektra held onto his hand with both of hers, praying that this situation wouldn't denigrate into a fight.

Thankfully, the couple turned a corner, leaving the mute mob behind them. As soon as they were out of sight, Batista rolled his eyes. "Assholes." he spat.

Elektra didn't reply. To a certain extent, she could understand the SmackDown locker room's disapproval. After all, their brand had been embarrassed on _her_ show by _her_ general manager. However, it wasn't as though _she _had been the one who had pulled the switch. _Just because I'm from Raw doesn't make your damn scapegoat…_she thought, feeling a rare flash of anger. _Believe me, I hate him as much as you do…_

_Maybe even more so…_

Just as quickly as it had emerged, unfortunately, her ire evaporated, returning her to her original cold emotional limbo. This ostracizing…it was something she seemed to experience no matter what brand she was on. It wasn't just the fact that she was from Raw—the rumors about Elektra's questionable mental stability were not limited to the Monday night brand.

_Finally, something both Raw AND SmackDown can_ _agree on…_Elektra mused to herself. The notion was so darkly funny that she had almost burst out laughing. She bit it back, however, knowing how insane it would sound.

_Right, because slitting your wrists isn't crazy enough…_the annoying little voice inside her head whispered.

Elektra squeezed her eyes closed for a heartbeat or two, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. _I'm not crazy…_she told herself fiercely. _I'm not crazy; I'm NOT…_ But the more she repeated this silent mantra, the more she wondered if it was herself, and not the rest of the world, that she was trying to convince.

The gray-eyed Diva didn't even realize that Batista had stopped until she felt him gently tug on her hand. "Hey, E, where're you going?" Elektra halted, looking back at her fiancée in surprise. The Animal stared down at her affectionately. The silver-eyed Diva slid her gaze to the door just behind him; to the sign clearly reading: "_DIVAS LOCKER ROOM". _

Elektra relaxed, letting her breath out in a low sigh. Letting go of Batista's hand, she pushed her hair back from her face with both of hers. "Sorry," she answered apologetically. "Guess I was just spacing out."

The World Heavyweight Champion regarded her for another second or two before reaching out to take her face in his hands. "Hey," he murmured, his voice a quiet rumble. "Don't worry about them, all right? I don't want you blaming yourself just because a bunch of petty assholes are looking for a scapegoat." He leaned closer, kissing her forehead. "I don't care about them; I care about _you_, baby." The Animal pulled back, gazing into her eyes. "Okay?" After a long moment, the gray-eyed Diva nodded in assent.

Batista's concerned expression dissipated, replaced by one of tenderness and love. He slid his hands down to her shoulders, pulling her against him. "I love you, you know." he remarked.

Elektra closed her eyes, soaking in the Animal's warmth. "I love you, too," she whispered. For several long seconds, the couple stood there, holding each other; finally, Elektra reluctantly pulled away. She reached for the door handle, and had just wrapped her fingers around it when Batista touched her shoulder, turning her back toward him. "Listen," he began, and then hesitated, looking off to the side. For the first time, Elektra noticed the worry in his countenance…the worry that bordered on fear. The Animal met her gaze again. "Don't…wander around by yourself tonight," Once more, he stopped, as though uncertain of how to proceed. "It's not that I don't trust you; it's just—"

"SmackDown isn't safe," the silver-eyed Diva finished, meeting his dark irises without flinching. "And won't be—as long as certain psychos are allowed to walk around without their straitjackets on."

Batista's expression didn't change, but Elektra could sense some of the tension draining out of his body. "I doubt that he'll try anything—but then again, with Orton, you never really know." The World Heavyweight Champion let out a bitter chuckle. "And both of us have found that out the hard way."

At the mention of the Legend Killer's name, the gray-eyed Diva felt her internal temperature drop to absolute zero. She did not like being reminded that visiting Dave also meant stepping into Randy Orton's territory. She began to shake, and for a moment, a heartbeat, almost surrendered to the panic. But in the next instant, she gathered all her mental strength and clamped down on her panic; clamped down _hard_. It had been six months since she had last encountered Randy Orton; she was certainly not going to surrender to an anxiety attack every time his name was mentioned. Instead, she looked up at the Animal, swallowing the fear that rose to the back of her throat. "Don't worry," she replied. "I'm not going anywhere—if you can do me a favor." Batista stared at her expectantly.

Elektra felt her mouth curve into a smile. "Could you swipe me an ice pack from the trainer's—my leg is _killing _me."

The concern on the World Heavyweight Champion's facegradually dissolved, and he grinned. "Sure thing, baby," he answered. "Anything for you." Cupping her cheek in his hand, he dipped his head down to capture her mouth with one last kiss.

* * *

The door to the women's locker room flew open and Elektra stormed out, her face contorted with rage. Clenching her hands into fists at her sides, she strode down the corridor. Her limp was more pronounced than it had been earlier; she practically lurched with every step. But the silver-eyed Diva was too pissed off to care.

She had known as soon as she set foot in the locker room that it was not going to be an enjoyable experience. She hadn't been there ten minutes before Christy Hemme proved her right. It was bad enough that the rest of the roster treated her like a leper; as though the thoughts that had driven her to attempt suicide were an infectious disease. But it was even worse when Divas like Christy—Divas who did little more than provide scenery—started assuming that they were better than her. That just because _their_ wrists had never encountered the business end _of_ a razor blade, they had attained some sort of desirable social status.

_Damaged goods...  
_

So Elektra had left—but not before throwing her ice pack (with surprisingly good aim, she was proud to note) at Christy's head. She was just able to see the smug expression on the Playboy cover girl's features turn to one of terror as the bag of ice hurtled toward her pretty face before whirling around and stomping out the door.

The gray-eyed Diva ground to a halt, covering her face with her hands. She swallowed hard, trying to get her breathing back under control. She wasn't crying…but she was so angry that tears were stinging her eyes.

What was _wrong_ with her? She was the former First Lady of Evolution, a former Women's Champion, for God's sake. She had used to rule the locker room; when had she started letting _Christy Hemme_—whose sole accomplishment of 2005 was posing naked for a magazine—walk all over her? Oh, yeah, that's right—because one night, she had lost her mind; had crossed the fine line between useless and outcast with a few slashes of a blade. To everyone else, the gray-eyed Diva was just as ineffectual as Christy. Even more so in her case…because she was crazy.

Elektra shook her head, the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. "I'm not crazy," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm not, I'm not…" But how could she not be? How could she even claim to be sane, when she could feel herself slipping away bit by bit? Ashley, John, Trish—hell, even _Dave_ was starting to lose faith in her. She was driving away the people who cared about her, and though they had resisted her rejection so far, pretty soon they would stop resisting. And then she might as well be dead, because she would be alone…

The silver-eyed Diva wished desperately that she had her pill bottle with her, so that she could reduce all of her pain, all of her anguish, in nothingness. She knew that no one else—including Dave—approved of her taking prescription meds, but it was the only way she could continue to go through life without becoming completely overwhelmed. Numb was better than giving in to the demons.

She had almost died the last time she had given in to the demons.

As she stood there, trying to regain some semblance of control over herself, Elektra felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up. She disregarded it at first, thinking it was merely some subtle change in the temperature—until she hear the voice in her ear, the owner of it so close that his breath tickled her skin. "_Well_…what're _you_ doing out here all alone…_Elektra_?"

For a moment, the gray-eyed Diva's heart stopped. Her mouth went dry; her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. But just as she had earlier, Elektra tamped down her fear, shoving it into some small corner of her psyche to be dealt with at a later time. Now was not the time for fear; he could probably smell it on her. The silver-eyed Diva moved forward a step and turned, steeling herself. Regardless, her stomach still tumbled over the edge into the abyss when her pale irises locked onto a pair of azure ones; eyes as empty and lifeless as those of a shark. Her mouth was still dry; it was a small miracle that her voice sounded even remotely normal when she spoke:

"Randy."

* * *

Unlike her fear of Triple H, Elektra had never really conquered her terror of Randy Orton. Most people, if she had told them this, would have found it surprising. After all, Triple H had made a career out of being a sadistic son of a bitch. He was a 10-time World Champion, the Cerebral Assassin, the _Game_. He had once beaten her senseless in the middle of the ring, in front of thousands of wrestling fans—and no one had come to her aid. By all rights, Triple H should have been the one to fear, not Randy Orton.

But most people didn't know Randy like she did.

The Cerebral Assassin was crazy; of this, she had no doubt. But it was a calculated kind of madness, a _predictable_ kind of madness. It was insanity with well-defined boundaries, and part of surviving the Game revolved around knowing what those boundaries were and how to skirt them.

Randy Orton had no boundaries. No one knew what fueled his madness, or what he would do, what depths he would sink to, when the insanity took over. Orton had the capacity to be as cunning as Triple H, but he was also a time bomb, a hot core of violent rage barely concealed beneath flesh and bone. Anyone who talked to him for longer than two minutes walked away with the impression that the Legend Killer was a coiled spring waiting to snap.

And that was what made him infinitely more dangerous than the Game. You always knew that Orton was going to snap, you just _never…knew…when_.

Elektra tried to avoid psychoanalyzing the Legend Killer whenever she could. She didn't want to know what kinds of twisted desires lurked behind his handsome face. She knew that Orton had tried to rape her, not once, but _twice_…and had come dangerously close to succeeding both times. Somewhere in between both of those incidents, he had tried to manipulate her into sleeping with him, a ploy which had also ended unsuccessfully. This was the first time in six months she'd seen Randy Orton, the first time in _eight_ months that she'd _spoken _to him—but somehow, despite all the time that had elapsed, Elektra was pretty sure that in Orton's warped sense of reality, he still believed that she belonged to him.

The silver-eyed Diva moved back subtly, just out of RKO range. She had seen how Randy had ended his relationship with Stacy Keibler. The Legend Killer tilted his head to the side, studying her. His eyes were still dead, but his mouth twitched, curled into an amused half-smile. "Is that the best you can do?" he remarked. "I don't see you for six months, and all I get is a 'Randy'?" He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "E, E, E…I thought we were closer than that."

Elektra moved back a step. "What do you want, Randy?" she asked, taking comfort in the fact that her voice sounded braver this time.

Orton didn't answer at first; only cracked his neck back and forth a few times. His eyes bored into her like blue lasers. He held out his hands in which would have been a placating gesture in anyone else. "Me? I'm just catching up on old times. You and me…we have _history_. In fact," The Legend Killer moved a step closer, and it took everything that Elektra had not to run away. She locked her knees in place, the pain—for once—temporarily forgotten. "You, me and _Dave_—we all go _way_ back." Orton continued. "And just so you know…"

The Legend Killer glanced down for a moment, and when he looked back up, the smile was gone. His face might as well have been chiseled from stone. When Orton spoke again, his voice was a sibilant hate-filled hiss: "Don't think that I've forgotten what your boyfriend—" He broke off for an instant, before going on. "—your _fiancée_ did to me."

"And what would that be?" Elektra replied, her voice betraying none of the panic that she felt. She didn't retreat, but only because she didn't trust the ability of her legs not to collapse beneath her.

Orton made that clucking sound again. "As much as I hate to admit it, angel, you're not as stupid as you look, so _don't play games with me_." Another step toward her. "You saw what Dave did; how he threw me shoulder-first into that ring post, put me out of action for _four months_."

"Yeah, well, you had it coming," Elektra retorted, the words pouring out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "Everything that happened to you…you had coming for a _long time_." As soon as she was finished, she knew that her remark had been a mistake, and Orton's reaction quickly verified that fact. For a heartbeat, his face warped into that _other_ expression; the true face of Randy Orton. With almost preternatural speed, he moved toward her, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her to him. Elektra let out a stifled gasp, but refused to scream. She could not, _would not_, let the Legend Killer see just how scared of him she was.

Orton jammed his face into hers, his close proximity making her want to vomit. "You haven't changed," he hissed. "Still pretending to be brave—just because you've got that _freak_ watching your back." He leaned closer, and Elektra actually had to swallow the bile that climbed up her throat as his lips brushed her hair. "Do you ever think about what's going to happen on the day Dave's _not_ there to save your ass?" She couldn't see it, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "_I do_. And when that day comes, I'm going to _savor_ it. It is going to taste _so sweet—just like you will_."

In the midst of her terror and nausea, Elektra also felt a bright spark of anger. Anger not only at herself for ending up in this predicament—but anger at the Legend Killer, and his madness's inability to evolve, to move past his lust for her. "_Get your hands off me_," she spat in a low voice.

Orton pulled back a little, staring at her with what could have been amusement. "Or what?" he drawled. "You're a long way from Raw, princess."

Elektra stared back at him, not with fear or bravado or defiance, but with _irritation_. "Yeah," she shot back. "I _am_ a long way from Raw. And so are you." She paused. "And so is _he_. And if you want to make it to your match on Sunday, I _suggest_ that you get your _goddamn hands off me_." She spat out the last phrase with a clipped preciseness.

For an agonizingly long moment, the Legend Killer studied her, not moving or saying anything. Finally, he relinquished his grip, allowing the gray-eyed Diva to slip free and back away from him. She clutched her arm with her other hand, knowing instinctively that it was going to bruise. Still Orton said nothing, but continued to gaze at her with the same detachment as that of a scientist viewing a particularly fascinating specimen.

When he finally did speak, his voice was soft and dangerous, like the quiet rustle of snake scales sliding across the ground. "You let Dave know…once I _kill _the legend of the Undertaker…I'm coming for him. Him _and_ his title. And once I'm finished destroying your boyfriend—"

Elektra was expecting one last retort, one last comment about how she should watch her back or how this thing between them was not over. Orton surprised her by saying neither. Instead, he extended his hand toward her, his index finger and thumb angled like the barrel and hammer of a gun. Pointing this imaginary weapon directly at her face, he twitched his hand upward, as though firing. His mouth moved, forming one single word:

_Bang…_

And then he was gone, slithering behind whatever corner or beneath whatever rock he'd crawled out of, disappearing completely from her view. Elektra stared hard at the spot where he had stood. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears, drowning out everything else. She could feel herself shaking, so violently that her teeth were practically chattering. Her chest had become unbearably tight, and she couldn't catch her breath. The silver-eyed Diva's legs buckled, and then collapsed beneath her, sending her to the floor. Her knees scraped uncomfortably against the concrete, but she didn't cry out, didn't make a sound.

The last thing she wanted was to give him a reason to come back.

* * *

It took Elektra ten minutes to stop hyperventilating and find the strength to rise back up to her feet. Once she did so, the world swam in front of her like a kaleidoscope, threatening to send her right back down. But Elektra gritted her teeth and held onto the wall for support. She had managed to survive her encounter with Randy Orton relatively unscathed; she was not going to spoil it by passing out in the middle of the corridor.

After several seconds, the feeling passed; the floor and ceiling resuming their proper positions in reality. The gray-eyed Diva took a step forward, then another. Her bad leg throbbed, but she welcomed the pain. Hell, she would even welcome Christy's snide remarks after facing the soulless void that was Randy Orton.

Elektra walked faster, chastising herself. She shouldn't have let Christy get to her; as a result, she had disobeyed his request and ended up precisely where neither of them wanted her to be: within the reach of the Legend Killer. The gray-eyed Diva knew that she had been lucky; she could not guarantee that she'd be so fortunate a second time. She still couldn't get that last image of Orton out of her mind, the way he'd pointed at her, the complete absence of emotion in his face as he did so.

It was as though he was silently telling her that everything he had done before, horrible as it had been…had only been the beginning.

Elektra turned the corner, wondering how she was going to explain this to Dave, how she was going to relay Orton's message without having the Animal go completely ballistic…

That thought was driven forcibly from her head as she abruptly collided with someone rounding the corner in the opposite direction. The silver-eyed Diva stumbled back a few steps, momentarily disoriented. She shook her head, trying to comb her dark tresses back from her face. As she did so, she glanced up—and found herself staring into the brown eyes of the Diva destined to become her nemesis.

Melina Perez pushed back a curl of blond-streaked brown hair, glaring at the gray-eyed Diva in front of her. Just behind her, Johnny Nitro and Joey Mercury—the other two members of MNM—shuffled their feet, feigning bored indifference, but ready to intercede (or aid) should a catfight ensue.

Elektra had heard all kinds of stories about MNM—how they had won the tag team titles in their first match, how they claimed to be A-listers, how they were a royal pain in everyone's ass (that one she heard more than the others). But the silver-eyed Diva had always sensed that the secret behind the tag team's success lay not in the athletic abilities of Nitro and Mercury, but in the diminutive form of their manager, Melina. It was that intuition that made Elektra instinctively wary of the SmackDown Diva. Melina was a stuck-up, spoiled, mean-tempered bitch who had made an entrance out of doing splits while wearing obscenely short skirts—but she was also smart.

Smart…and dangerous.

And _loud_, as Elektra unfortunately found out, wincing as Melina's shrill voice cut across her thoughts. "Watch where you're going, you dumb bitch!" the paparazzi princess snapped.

Elektra almost asked why Melina hadn't been doing the same thing, but closed her mouth at the last second. She was pretty sure that arguing with Melina would be like arguing with a brick wall; in other words, a complete waste of time and energy. Muttering "Sorry," instead, the gray-eyed Diva sidled around Melina—only to find her path blocked by Nitro and Mercury.

"Don't you walk away from me!" Again, Elektra grimaced at the piercing tone of Melina's voice. She did not envy whichever member of MNM had to wake up to _that_. _Maybe she's screwing them both…_the silver-eyed Diva thought to herself, and had to stifle the giggle that bubbled up inside her. Melina, thankfully, didn't seem to notice Elektra's amusement. "Don't you _know_ who I _am_?" the SmackDown Diva demanded.

Elektra rolled her eyes. Great, it was going to be one of _those_ situations. Either it was fight back or take it, and the gray-eyed Diva had put up with enough shit today to know that she wasn't going to take it this time. Elektra spun around, successfully combing her hair back from her face, enjoying the sight of Melina moving back a step in surprise. "Yeah, I _know_ who _you_ are!" Elektra snapped. She wasn't really mad, just irritated that she had ended up in yet another crappy situation. "You want to watch where the hell _you're_ going?"

Melina stared back at her, her expression dumbfounded, as though she had never actually expected the other Diva to _stand up_ to her. This was probably the first time in a while that anyone ever had. Her dark eyes scanned Elektra's face, surprise slowly giving way to recognition…which in turn, gave way to disdain. The corners of her mouth edged upward in a sneer, and she laughed, the sound of it bright and malicious. "Nitro, Mercury, _look_," she chirped, her voice dripping with poisoned sweetness. "It's the _First Lady_."

Elektra heard the low snickers behind her, followed by someone humming "Hail to the Chief". She sensed the pair moving closer, boxing her in, but she never took her eyes off the SmackDown Diva in front of her. Melina tugged daintily at the top of her camouflage-print corset top, pulling it up a little further, then carefully smoothed her hair back from her face.

The paparazzi princess met her gaze again, the smirk even wider this time. Stepping lightly on the balls of her stiletto-clad feet, she strolled toward Elektra, halting just in front of the silver-eyed Diva. "Tell me," she began, her strident voice full of that saccharine falseness. "After that match you had last night—how does it feel to go from the A-list all the way down to the D-list?"

Elektra almost succeeded in choking back her laughter, rolling her eyes upward toward the ceiling. _Is that the best you can do?_...she thought to herself. She used to hear similar sentiments from Triple H; she had expected something slightly more imaginative out of Melina.

Evidently, her amusement was not what the SmackDown Diva wanted to see. Melina's sneer faded, replaced by an expression of furious loathing. She stormed toward Elektra, glaring up at her. "You think this is _funny_, bitch?" she snarled.

The silver-eyed Diva looked down at her mildly. She was taller than Melina by at least half a foot; she was sorely tempted to just put her hand on the paparazzi princess's forehead and push back. But she restrained herself. This confrontation—as entertaining as it was—was still on the verge of breaking down into a brawl. And as tolerant as Theodore Long normally was, she was pretty sure that after last night, he would not hesitate to eject a Raw Diva from the building.

Elektra clasped her hands behind her back, staring back at Melina without saying anything. Even if the SmackDown Diva actually succeeded in pissing her off, she was not going to Melina goad her into a fight.

Unfortunately, the paparazzi princess didn't seem to feel the same way. She moved closer to Elektra, jabbing her index finger into the gray-eyed Diva's shoulder. Elektra actually felt the tip of Melina's manicured nail dig into her skin. The SmackDown Diva stared hard at her, her dark eyes narrowing to tiny slits. Elektra's reticence must be as annoying as her previous enjoyment at Melina's expense. "I am _talking _to you, you—" The paparazzi princess never got to finish her sentence when a new voice—a _familiar_ voice—cut her off.

"Baby? E, is that you?"

The silver-eyed Diva turned, her body easing slightly in relief as Batista came up to her, elbowing Nitro and Mercury aside to pull her into his arms. "I've been looking everywhere for you," the Animal murmured. Taking her face in his hands, he held her at arm's length, gazing into her eyes. "I thought I told you to stay put."

Elektra shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, it's just…some people were being a-holes…and I just got sick of it."

The World Heavyweight Champion chuckled. "Yeah, I gathered that much from Christy." He glanced around, as though noticing MNM for the first time. His affectionate countenance altered slightly, becoming colder, more intimidating. "They bothering you, baby?" he asked, a threat rumbling at the edges of his voice.

Both Mercury and Nitro immediately backed away; Mercury actually held up both of his hands. "Listen, man," the SmackDown Superstar began, his voice tentative. "We weren't doing anything—"

"I'm pretty sure I wasn't _talking_ to _you_!" Batista interrupted brusquely, shooting a glare in Mercury's direction. The former Tag Team Champion shrank back even further, his mouth snapping closed. The Animal turned back toward his fiancée, his expression softening a touch. "Well, E?"

The gray-eyed Diva was quiet for a moment, before slowly sliding her gaze back to Melina. The paparazzi princess was livid, she could tell, and just barely concealing it beneath a big phony smile. Insulting Elektra while she was alone was one thing, but trying to do so in front of Elektra's fiancée, SmackDown's World Heavyweight Champion—well, that was just _stupid_.

Elektra regarded her for several long seconds, finally allowing herself to smirk. _I could take you out right now…_her pale irises said. _I could throw you right under the bus and it would be SO easy…_ But she said nothing. As satisfying as it would be to make Melina pay for her remarks, it would be even more so to remind her that the possibility always existed.

The gray-eyed Diva turned back to her fiancée, assuming a look of nonchalance. "No, no, we were just talking about my match last night. _In fact_…" She shot another look back in Melina's direction. "Melina was just congratulating me on my big win. Isn't that _right_, _Mel_?" Her tone was like honey, but there was no masking the directness of her words.

The paparazzi princess's eyes blazed with hate. She opened her mouth to reply, and for a second, Elektra thought that Melina was actually going to forget herself and show her true colors. But the SmackDown Diva was not an idiot. She obviously loathed Elektra—that much was clear—but she was not going to go so far as to commit professional suicide. Instead, Melina pressed her lips together into a thin line and bobbed her head in a curt nod.

Batista barely glanced in the paparazzi princess's direction. "Come on, baby, let's go." This comment was aimed at Elektra; taking the silver-eyed Diva's hand in his, lacing his fingers through hers, he led her down the hall, away from MNM. The World Heavyweight Champion turned toward his fiancée, his features easing into a grin. "Question, E—did you _throw_ something at Christy? 'Cause she's got this huge mark on her forehead…"

Their conversation and laughter faded into incoherence as they moved further down the corridor. For a moment, the three members of MNM remained where they were—Melina in the middle, Nitro and Mercury flanking her on either side. Eventually, Mercury broke the silence. "You know," he began slowly. "She may be crazy—but she is fucking _hot_." The former Tag Team Champion whistled appreciatively. "Damn! That Dave is one lucky bastard—Ow!" Mercury grabbed the shoulder that Nitro had just smacked, glaring at his tag team partner. "What the fuck, man? What'd I say?"

Nitro rolled his eyes and nodded wordlessly over his shoulder at their manager. Mercury looked from him to Melina, and then back again, awareness gradually dawning on his face. Wisely, he shut his mouth. Nitro turned toward the SmackDown Diva, his expression sympathetic. "Don't listen to her, Mel. Everyone knows she's just a psycho."

Melina didn't answer him; she was still staring intently in the direction of the departing couple. Nitro frowned. "Mel? What're you thinking about?"

For a moment, he thought that she hadn't heard, but then the paparazzi princess spoke. "Nothing, Johnny—just thinking." She stared at the retreating figure of Elektra, at the way Batista protectively held her hand in his. As she watched, the Animal lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing the tips of her fingers. Melina's dark eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Just thinking…" she repeated, her voice as hard and brittle as ice.


	7. Chapter 7: Suffering in Silence

**A/N: Once again, I apologize for the long wait. I had Spring Break, followed by the busiest three weeks of my life. The semester's winding down, and things are starting to get hairy, so the only thing I can say is: Bear with me. Those of you who have already, you are AWESOME!**

**Thank you to **SandraSmit19, coolchic79260, Nastygrl25, ortonfanatic56, AshlynnxHearts, Esha Napoleon, **and**wwechick24 **for reviewing the last chapter! You ROCK!

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Chapter 6: Suffering in Silence

Elektra hummed along to the John Mayer song emanating from the car speaker as she maneuvered her vehicle into a space near the back of the parking garage. The music died away when she killed the engine, but the silver-eyed Diva continued to hum brightly to the song still playing inside her head.

She had arrived at the AmericanBank Center in Corpus Christi for Monday Night Raw later than she normally would have, but Elektra didn't really care. She had had the closest thing to a perfect week that she had had in a long time. A few blissful days with Dave, a relatively light house show schedule—all culminating in a brief detour to Houston to hang out backstage at the No Mercy pay-per-view.

The gray-eyed Diva knew that the powers-that-be (specifically, Bischoff) might not be too thrilled by her attendance at the SmackDown event. After all, she was a _Raw_ Diva. But Elektra refused to let that bother her. For the most part, the SmackDown Superstars treated her exactly the same as their Raw counterparts—like she didn't exist. And since it had been almost a year since she had last wrestled at a pay-per-view, the silver-eyed Diva might as well have been backstage at her own show. Besides, the allure of SmackDown was that there was_ no_ Eric Bischoff.

That…and the fact that this sort of clandestine attendance was the only way she could spend more time with Dave.

For a moment, Elektra felt her good mood falter at the edges. _Why couldn't I have been traded to SmackDown, too?..._she asked herself silently. _Why did this stupid draft lottery have to separate us?..._ In that instant, pictures flickered across her mind—images she would just as soon forget entirely—and with an enormous mental shove, the gray-eyed Diva pushed them back; shoved them into a dark corner where they could no longer (at least consciously) torment her.

Elektra got out of the car, pulling her suitcase out of the backseat. She dug her IPod out of her oversized shoulder bag and plugged the ear buds into her ears. The hard pulsating rhythm of Korn's "Somebody Someone" replaced the mental John Mayer, pounding through her skull and driving out any remaining negative recollections.

The silver-eyed Diva's smile returned, and tugging the brim of her black cadet hat down a little further, she moved quickly across the parking area, wheeling her suitcase behind her with both hands. She _was_ a little late, but Elektra doubted that her tardiness was going to cause any huge problems. Chances were, her sole appearance on this edition of Raw would be brief; a few fleeting seconds of her chatting with one of the lower-card Superstars. Last week's B & P match had been the exception rather than the rule, and it would probably be a long while before she would be so fortunate again.

Which was tragic, because last week's match—as insignificant and last-minute as it had been—had reminded her of just how much she loved to compete. Maybe someone would take pity on her tonight and book her in a bout against Torrie Wilson. Or Candice Michelle—that would be even better. Elektra knew she could easily take the GoDaddy spokesmodel, and Candice's attitude toward her over the past year had put her in desperate need of a backhand.

The gray-eyed Diva continued down the corridor, aware only of the heavy metal music in her ears, the vibration of the suitcase's wheels as they rolled over the rough concrete, and the hope (however transient) that maybe, just maybe, she could start working her way back into the title hunt—

Therefore, she almost jumped when she felt the light touch on her arm. Elektra whirled around, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle a startled gasp. The shock quickly melted away when she saw it was only one of Raw's road agents, who regarded her with a bemused expression. The silver-eyed Diva quickly pulled the slender ear buds from her ears, the Korn song still faintly audible through their tiny speakers.

The road agent cleared his throat. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you, but I was told to give you a message as soon as you got here." He paused for a second. "Bischoff wants to see you in his office ASAP."

Elektra let her arm fall to her side, her IPod almost slipping from her numb fingers. In an instant, her pleasant euphoria evaporated, leaving her in the grip of a dread so intense and all-consuming that it threatened to knock her over. Her stomach gave an abrupt lurch, and the gray-eyed Diva felt herself sway unsteadily for a moment or two. Mercifully, the dizziness passed, and Elektra was able to regain a tenuous hold on her equilibrium.

Her eyes never left the road agent's, and she realized after a few seconds that he was staring at her with more than a little concern. Elektra didn't blame him. She could literally feel the blood draining from her face; to him, she must look like one of the walking dead. The silver-eyed Diva forced herself to smile. It was barely a smile—just an upward twitch at the corners of her mouth—but it hurt like hell nonetheless. "Thanks," she managed to reply, her tongue feeling as though it had been coated with sand.

The road agent started to say something else, but stopped and instead reached out to give her arm a quick squeeze. The touch was reassuring, and Elektra could tell from the expression on his face that he at least sympathized with her, even if he didn't fully understand the reason for her anxiety.

But then again, no one knew that.

The man excused himself wordlessly, easing around her. The gray-eyed Diva remained in place, her eyes still staring sightlessly at the place where he had been. After taking a few deep breaths, she was able to quell the apprehension churning inside her just long enough to start walking again. Her body no longer felt like it belonged to her; she couldn't even feel her feet connecting with the floor. She didn't feel nauseous anymore, but only because her stomach had gone numb along with everything else. Most likely, when all this was over, she was going to have to make a mad dash for the nearest restroom.

The trip only lasted two or three minutes, but the Raw Diva felt as though she was walking her last mile; the final journey of a condemned man—or woman, in her case. She halted in front of the GM's door, her pale irises silently studying the placard adorning its surface:

_RAW General Manager_

The silver-eyed Diva reached up hesitantly, her fingers curled limply against her palm. She remained like that for a moment or two, her knuckles less than an inch from the door. Finally, Elektra let out a soft sigh, closing her eyes, and digging her nails into her palm, rapped sharply on the door.

She heard Bischoff's muffled bark almost immediately: "Come in!" For the second time today, the gray-eyed Diva felt her heart vault up into her throat. She could hear the relentless pulse of her blood pounding in her temples. But taking another deep breath, she wrapped her trembling fingers around the door handle, turned it, and pushed the door open.

Bischoff's desk was along the far edge of the L-shaped room; Elektra didn't even see it until she moved out into the center of the space. The door clicked shut softly behind her, and the silver-eyed Diva jumped, biting back a scream. She quickly glanced over to see if Bischoff had noticed her fright, but the Raw GM's gray-haired head remained bowed as he studied the scripts spread out in front of him. He didn't seem to realize she was there, but Elektra knew better. Bischoff might appear to be going over paperwork, but in reality, he was surreptitiously observing her out of the edges of his vision, noting her discomfort and her trepidation—and probably enjoying every second of it.

The gray-eyed Diva left her suitcase and IPod in the middle of the room, and walked forward, stopping right in front of the Raw GM's desk. Lacing her fingers together, she clasped her hands behind her back, concentrating all of her willpower on keeping her knees from shaking. Still, Bischoff continued to ignore her, and for the first time, Elektra could feel the deliberateness of his disregard. Without so much as a word or even a glance, he was reminding her of just how insignificant she was to him. And the longer she remained standing in front of him, enduring this snub, she was reminding _him_ of just how desperately she needed him.

"You're late."

Bischoff's terse comment startled the silver-eyed Diva out of her reverie, and she looked up, meeting the humorless gaze of the General Manager. Elektra swallowed, trying to dredge up enough moisture in her mouth to form coherent words. "There was traffic—" she began tentatively.

"Of course there was," Bischoff interrupted dryly, not even trying to mask his sarcasm. He nodded curtly to one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Sit down." The gray-eyed Diva took a cautious seat. She put her hands in her lap, then after second thought, sat on them instead. Bischoff folded his hands together on top of his desk, his eyes fixed on her face. For several agonizing seconds, he studied her without speaking. Elektra could feel his gaze pressing against her skin; it felt like a violation. The silver-eyed Diva glanced down toward the floor, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. A bead of cold perspiration worked its way down her back. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but knew that her discomfort was already evident.

Bischoff's mouth curled into a smirking half-smile. He made a sound that could have been clearing his throat…or repressing a chuckle. Regardless, Elektra heard the unuttered laughter in his voice when he spoke: "First order of business: I've decided to give Victoria another shot at your friend Trish Stratus's Women's Championship. And just to make sure that there's no funny business…" The Raw GM leaned forward a little. "_Everyone _is banned from ringside; Candice, Torrie, Ashley…and _you_."

Elektra wondered vaguely how a defeat last week equated a title shot this week, but she didn't say anything. Deep down, she was annoyed at Bischoff's assumption; that Trish—a six-time Women's Champion—needed help to fight her battles. If _that_ was the case, the silver-eyed Diva would have come barreling down the ramp to aid her friend a helluva lot sooner. All because of one match last week—a match which Bischoff had rudely thrust her into.

It was interesting, though, how this scripted animosity between the other five Divas masked some very real friction. And it wasn't out of jealousy or even dislike—it was because Trish and Ashley refused to ostracize Elektra like everyone else. The feud might be fake…but the line in the sand was still plainly visible.

The gray-eyed Diva didn't vocalize this, or even allow herself to react. She had a sneaking suspicion that Bischoff was trying to goad her into an emotional response—and that this bit of information was not his only piece of ammunition. Instead, she eyed the Raw GM with what she hoped was disdain, tilting her chin up a little bit. "Is there anything else…_sir_?" Her tone was tart, each syllable practically spat out.

Bischoff leaned back, the half-smirk on his face becoming a full blown sneer. "One more thing…" He paused, probably for dramatic effect. "The McMahons are here tonight."

At this, Elektra visibly tensed. Her countenance didn't change, but her body position became just a little more rigid. She swallowed hard, clenching her teeth together. The Raw GM continued, his satisfaction evident in his voice: "And from what I hear…after what happened last week…they're out for blood. So…" At this, Bischoff paused again, and his grin faded just a touch. He leaned forward again, pressing both palms against the flat surface of the desk. His eyes bored into those of the Raw Diva seated in front of him. When he spoke, his voice held only the barest suggestion of a threat: "I trust that, as a loyal member of the _Raw_ roster, you will be…_discreet_…should one of them approach you?"

Elektra knew that she should feel _something_, at least a modicum of pleasure, upon glimpsing this small chink in the General Manager's seemingly impenetrable armor. After Stone Cold Steve Austin had Stunned all four members of the McMahon family the previous week, Vince McMahon had declared (shortly before being helped from the arena) that _someone_ was going to be fired. And it was no secret that number one on the list of possible candidates was Eric Bischoff.

Behind Bischoff's smug confident exterior lurked a scared man, plain and simple. _That_ was the reason he was banning her from ringside, the reason he had summoned her to his office in the first place. Bischoff didn't want to give the McMahon clan _any_ reason to terminate his reign as Raw's General Manager. And Elektra could do it; she _knew _she could do it. All it would take was a few words whispered in the right pair of ears, and Eric Bischoff would be out of a job…

But she couldn't—and both she and Bischoff knew that she couldn't. Because that power worked both ways, and she couldn't take him down without destroying herself. As much as she wanted to see the Raw GM burn, she couldn't ignore the fact that she was the one covered in gasoline, and all Bischoff had to do was strike a match—

The General Manager coughed impatiently, and the silver-eyed Diva returned to the present with a jolt. She looked up at Bischoff, feeling anger tint the corners of her vision. Before she could check herself, the words poured out of her mouth. "You mean, don't blab to Vince or Stephanie about what a bastard you are?" She moved forward in her chair, bringing her hands out from under her to curl into fists. "Don't tell them about what _you_ did to _me_—"

Elektra stopped, the stream of verbal vitriol drying up in her throat in mid-sentence. She couldn't bring herself to voice it, not _that_. Not to her friends, her fiancée, _herself_—and certainly not to the man responsible. Instead, the gray-eyed Diva dug her nails into her palm, savoring the sharp bite of pain as they pierced her flesh. She pressed her lips together grimly, knowing that it was too late to hide the shame and anguish gleaming in her pale irises.

For a heartbeat or two, neither of them moved. Then, Bischoff smirked, and with deliberate slowness, he clasped his hands together once again. There was no need to do or say anything; they both knew that he had regained control of the situation. When the Raw GM spoke again, his tone was soft, almost gentle. "I'm sorry you feel that way," He cocked his head to the side, eying her with that cold scrutiny. "If you're _that_ upset about it—go ahead." The arrogance crept back into his voice more and more with every passing second, even though he didn't alter his volume one bit. "Spill the beans. Tell Vince everything you know." Without tearing his eyes from the Raw Diva, Bischoff reached toward his inner jacket pocket. "Just remember that all I have to do is make _one phone call_—"

Elektra jumped to her feet so suddenly that she almost knocked the chair over. "All right!" she cried, her voice almost a shrill scream. "All right! I'll keep my mouth shut! Are you happy?" _You son of a bitch…_she added silently.

Bischoff's smile never changed, but it didn't matter; the confidence was oozing off of him in nearly visible waves. "Quite." He raised his hand, waving it toward him in that dismissive gesture she despised, as though all of her unhappiness, all of her torment, was just another completed item on his agenda. "You can go."

The gray-eyed Diva stared back at him for a few seconds, choking back her fury. Finally, her motions as stiff as those of a robot, she turned, moving back to collect her discarded property and heading for the door. She had just grasped the handle when Bischoff's smarmy tone dug into her eardrum yet again: "By the way…I trust that I'll be receiving a wedding invitation, once you and Dave set a date?"

Elektra squeezed her eyes closed, a tear working its way out from under her closed lids. The wrath burning in her veins a second ago was already draining away, leaving her limp and exhausted. She couldn't even force herself to speak—but what was the point of talking, anyway? Words wouldn't change anything. Words wouldn't make the pain go away. Better to remain mute, then.

Better to suffer in silence.

* * *

Elektra wrapped her arms around her body, hugging herself as she headed for the catering area. Her "conversation" with Bischoff had left her shaken, and she had spent the past hour in a daze. She had a hazy recollection of returning to the women's locker room and changing into her on-camera attire, fielding off Trish and Ashley's frantic questions with mumbled one-word responses. She knew that the Women's Champion and the Dirty Diva were both worried about her—and she was certainly giving them a reason to be—but by now, they had to be realizing that the former First Lady of Evolution was going to be less than forthcoming when it came to explanations.

_How long before they lose faith in me, too?..._Elektra though miserably to herself. _How long before they turn their backs and abandon me just like Victoria and everyone else…_ She knew that, after everything Trish had done for her, she at least merited the truth. But was the truth really better? Wasn't it better to perpetuate the lie, to keep up the illusion that she really _had_ lost her mind, rather than admit that when she had pressed that razor blade to her skin, she had been completely and painfully sane—

If she told Trish, if she told _anyone_ the truth, everything she had built up for herself would come crashing down. But the longer she remained silent, the more her life eroded away beneath her. No matter which road she chose, her perfect world would inevitably shatter…

The gray-eyed Diva stepped into the break area, making a beeline for the catering table. She grabbed a bottle of water, pressing the cool container to her forehead for a couple seconds before twisting off the cap and slugging down a few refreshing swallows. Her heartbeat was returning to normal, and she no longer felt the urge to vomit. Elektra was just beginning to believe that she would actually make it through this night, when a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Elektra?"

The silver-eyed Diva spun around in surprise, her mouth going dry and her heart nearly stopping as she stared into the pale blue irises of Stephanie McMahon.

Elektra and the Billion Dollar Princess were not exactly friends; there was too much of a business relationship between them to allow for any real rapport. Still, the two women had at least one thing in common—a long-term relationship with the Superstar known as the Game—and despite the McMahon penchant for treachery, Elektra always knew that she could trust Stephanie implicitly. It was Stephanie who had offered her a contract, Stephanie who had brought her to OVW and eventually to the WWE. It was Stephanie whom she had first told about the brutal rape she had suffered when she was nineteen, before begging the former SmackDown GM to keep it a secret. And in the two years that followed, the Billion Dollar Princess had kept her word, which was amazing, considering that even the most trivial events of a Superstar or Diva's personal life ran a fair chance of being included in a story line.

The gray-eyed Diva should have been happy to see Stephanie…but right now, all she could feel was a sick anxious terror. This was the first time that she had talked to Stephanie McMahon in almost three months—and not because they just kept missing each other, but because of a carefully calculated avoidance on the Raw Diva's part. And it wasn't because of shame or cowardice, although, Lord knows, that definitely played a part.

It was because, after all the other people in her life she had lied to—Trish, John, _Dave_—she didn't think that she would be able to lie to Stephanie as well. Because unlike everyone else, Stephanie would not let it go until she had the truth.

Elektra gave herself a quick mental shake, forcing herself back to the situation at hand. She forced a smile, hoping it did not look as grotesque as her others had been. "Hey, Steph. How are things?"

"Oh, you know," The Billion Dollar Princess gave a quick eye roll. "The usual bureaucratic bullshit. My life doesn't change. But how about you?" She reached out to affectionately grasp the Raw Diva's arm. "What's going on with you? How're things with Dave?"

Elektra shrugged. "Fine, considering…" She gestured helplessly with her hands.

Stephanie nodded, her features taking on an expression of sympathetic understanding. "I know what you mean. I thought for sure you would have been traded to SmackDown." The silver-eyed Diva felt her chest grow tight, but mercifully, the former SmackDown GM changed the subject. "Have you two set a date yet?"

Elektra nodded slowly. "Sort of. We have it pinned down to next fall. You know, after SummerSlam, before Survivor Series?" Stephanie nodded in assent. The gray-eyed Diva went on. "I've been tearing through catalogs, and my mom's helping out as much as she can, but _still_…" Elektra let out a weary sigh.

The Billion Dollar Princess laughed quietly. "I hear you, although I don't think _I'd_ be much help in that department. I don't remember my first wedding, and the second…" Stephanie grimaced. "Well, I'd just as soon forget that one, too."

This time, the Raw Diva laughed as well, the ball of tension in her stomach gradually easing. Her fears regarding this encounter appeared to be unfounded; Steph seemed to be more concerned with catching up than probing for the truth.

That is, until a funny look crossed the Billion Dollar Princess's face and she abruptly asked: "Listen, Elektra…can I ask you something?"

The silver-eyed Diva felt her stomach tumble over into nothingness and her heartbeat ratchet up into overdrive, but yet, her voice still sounded fairly normal when she replied: "Sure." Without looking away, she set her water bottle back on the table. Better leaving it than dropping it.

The former SmackDown GM took her gently by the arm, steering her away from the catering table to an adjacent wall. She peered closely at Elektra, her eyes as intense and searching as blue laser beams. Stephanie opened her mouth, closed it. Opened it again, closed it again. Elektra had never seen the Billion Dollar Princess at a loss for words, but knew she should enjoy this speechlessness while she could—because once Steph regained her voice, she was not going to like what would come out.

Eventually, Stephanie appeared to collect herself mentally and spoke. Her voice was neutral, but it was barely masking a thread of obvious concern. "Elektra…_what happened_ to you?" She saw the gray-eyed Diva open her mouth and rushed on. "And don't give me that 'What do you mean' bullshit; _you_ _know_ what I'm talking about."

At this, Elektra looked away, a tiny muscle near her jaw throbbing as she ground her teeth together. The Billion Dollar Princess continued. "Six months ago…you were one of the top Divas on Raw, counting down the days until your cast came off so you could return to the ring. All of a sudden, you're trying to _kill yourself_—"

Stephanie's voice dropped to a harsh whisper and she looked away for a second or two before continuing. "I don't…_understand_…why you would want to end your life, when you have everything to live for. And I see you now…you shy away from the ring, even though you're been cleared to wrestle for the past two months. You avoid the cameras, you don't talk to _anyone_, not even me—it's like you're _trying _to disappear." The former SmackDown GM glanced back at Elektra, and the look in her blue eyes was beseeching. "Elektra, whatever you're going through, it's not worth this…this…_self-banishment._"

As she listened, the silver-eyed Diva caught a flicker of movement at the corner of her vision. She looked up, her pale irises widened in horror as Eric Bischoff strolled casually into the catering area. He stopped, his eyes taking in the room. Elektra felt her throat lock up as his gaze fell on her, his face twisting into a disapproving frown. The gray-eyed Diva started to inch away from Stephanie, but the Billion Dollar Princess must have thought that she was trying to avoid the conversation, because she grabbed the Raw Diva's arm, hauling her back.

"You've got everyone fooled, don't you?" the former SmackDown GM whispered. Her voice, for the first time, sounded _angry_. "You think you can just play the crazy card and everyone will leave you alone. Well, hon, _I'm not everyone_."

Stephanie moved a little closer to Elektra. "Seven years ago, you went through the worst thing that _any_ woman can go through—and you survived. What happened—what could have _possibly_ happened--that's worse than _that_?"

Beyond the Billion Dollar Princess, Bischoff reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and extracted an item. It didn't take Elektra long to figure out what it was.

A cell phone.

As she watched, panic-stricken, the Raw GM flipped the cellular device open, punching in a number on the keypad.

The gray-eyed Diva swung her gaze back to Stephanie. "I have to go," she mumbled, her voice nearly inaudible. She moved to do so, but the former SmackDown GM grabbed her arm yet again.

Stephanie peered into her face, her own countenance full of fear. "Elektra, _what happened_?" she asked, the calmness now gone from her voice.

Bischoff raised the phone to his ear, and just as nonchalantly as he had entered, sauntered out of the catering area.

Elektra struggled to pull free, a soft mewling sound escaping her throat, but Stephanie held fast. "Tell me what happened!" the Billion Dollar Princess demanded.

"_I can't_!" the silver-eyed Diva wailed, almost bursting into tears. Her outburst surprised Stephanie so much that she released her hold, allowing Elektra to wriggle free. The Raw Diva backed away a step, near hysteria. "I can't," she repeated, her voice full of resigned misery. Another step back; she was literally retreating from the former SmackDown GM. "Please…please don't ask me again." One more step. "Steph, I'm _begging _you…please don't ask me that again."

With that, she turned, running from the room. Stephanie watched her go, her face creased in a frown of confused worry. "What happened, Elektra?" she whispered as the Raw Diva disappeared from her view.

* * *

Elektra didn't stop to consider how her sudden departure might have looked to everyone else, or what Stephanie McMahon must be thinking about her current state of mental stability. All she could think was that if she didn't catch Bischoff before he finished making that phone call—her life might as well be over.

When she first entered the hallway, she didn't spot him; there were too many backstage personnel blocking her view. The gray-eyed Diva ground to a halt, whatever fragile hope she still possessed rapidly dissipating. Then—like a small gift from the Almighty—the sea of bodies parted and she saw him. The General Manager had almost reached the end of the corridor.

Elektra broke into a mad dash, nearly twisting her ankle in the process. She sidestepped around technicians and production assistants, trying to run as fast as her short skirt and high-heeled shoes would allow. "Mr. Bischoff!" she cried out, trying to get the Raw GM's attention. No luck; Bischoff didn't even do so much as pause. The silver-eyed Diva hopped over a large coil of electrical cord, sidled around two guys carrying a ladder. "Mr. Bischoff!" Another coil of wire, a maze of black equipment crates. Somehow, a simple journey had turned into the Hallway Olympics. But Elektra kept going, kept pressing herself forward, her body running on pure adrenaline and fear…

Incredibly, she caught up with the General Manager without causing serious injury to herself or others. The gray-eyed Diva stopped, trying to catch her breath. She groped outward with her hand, trying to snag the sleeve of Bischoff's jacket. Her fingertips grazed the fabric without grabbing hold of anything. "Mr. Bischoff…" she managed to gasp out, her body crying out for oxygen. The silver-eyed Diva bent over, hands on her knees, as she gulped down breath after breath.

The Raw GM stopped, slowly turning around to face her. The cell phone was still pressed to his ear. He studied the Diva in front of him, taking in her flushed skin, the beads of perspiration on her forehead—and the terrified expression marring her delicate features. Gradually, Bischoff's unreadable countenance changed, his face lighting up with a look of self-satisfied pleasure that was sickening to look at. He lowered the phone to his side, snapping it closed with a sharp click. Despite herself, Elektra flinched. The General Manager glanced down at the electronic device in his hand, as though surprised to find it there. "I thought that I had some voice mail," His tone was just as smugly superior as the expression on his face. He glanced back at her. "Guess I was wrong." Bischoff lifted his eyebrows, assuming a look of phony innocence. "Was there something you wanted?"

Elektra didn't answer at first; she was too busy trying to breathe. Slowly, as oxygen entered her body and rational thought returned to her, she realized that Bischoff was just toying with her. That he had manipulated her into completely losing her cool in front of everyone…but specifically, in front of Stephanie McMahon. He had played her—and she had fallen for it.

The gray-eyed Diva was hit with a rush of loathing so strong that it threatened to obliterate everything else. She could not remember the last time she had hated someone so intensely. Rage tore through her; ugly black rage that swept across her mind like dark thunderclouds, and in that instant, she wanted nothing more than to wrap both of her hands around Bischoff's neck and squeeze until his face turned a mottled purple…

Words rose to her lips, harsh hate-filled epithets that she had been holding back for three long months. But just as Elektra was about to utter them, just as she was about to unleash the full force of her pent-up fury, she stopped herself. Cursing Bischoff out wouldn't change anything. It might make her momentarily feel better, but in the end, her situation would be no different than it was before.

And if she let her anger show, if she let Eric Bischoff see just how much she truly despised him—then he would only tighten his grip on her soul. The General Manager wanted to see her at her most pitiful, wanted to see her completely broken down, and if she fought him, he would only escalate the torment; take away the things she loved until there was nothing left of her.

_Remember Dave…_the small voice inside her head murmured. It could be comforting at times, this voice. _Remember his eyes, his hands on your face, the feeling of his arms around you…do you really want to lose him because of THIS asshole?..._

Elektra didn't. The only thing worse than this was being alone once again, and she couldn't go back to that. She couldn't _survive_ if she had to go back to that. Which was why she was going to swallow her anger, swallow her pride…and try to hide from Bischoff just how much she wanted to kill him.

The silver-eyed Diva straightened up to her full length, meeting the General Manager's stare without flinching. At her side, she squeezed her fist tight, the acute pain allowing her head to clear. She took a few cautious steps toward the Raw GM. Swallowing the harsh tears climbing up her throat, she spat out her words in a low voice: "I didn't tell her anything."

Bischoff cocked his head to the side, still smirking. Without warning, he brought his hand up to pat her gently, almost affectionately, on the cheek. "Good girl," he remarked calmly.

Elektra shied away from his touch, repulsed by the feeling of Bischoff's fingers on her skin. She looked away, staring dully at the porous texture of the cinderblock walls. The General Manager dropped his hand back down to his side, letting loose a dry chuckle of laughter. Just knowing that her agony _amused_ him made the gray-eyed Diva want to vomit. She bit the inside of her lower lip, hard enough to fill her mouth with the sour tang of blood.

Bischoff cleared his throat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe that both of us have a show to get ready for." However, Elektra could see at the edges of her vision that the Raw GM was making no move to leave. He moved toward her, and the silver-eyed Diva drew back, stifling a whimper. Bischoff's voice was softer now, but there was no mistaking the deadly malice in his tone. "Just remember, Elektra—if you decide to get _chatty_ with the McMahons or anyone else tonight…" He let the thought trail off and instead held his cell phone in front of her face, waggling it back and forth. Elektra's shoulders slumped and she bowed her head, hoping he wouldn't see the tears trickling down her cheeks.

The General Manager uttered another mirthless chuckle and strolled away, his footsteps dying away into the ambient din filling the corridor. Elektra remained where she was for several more seconds, however, until she was certain that he was really gone.

The Raw Diva lifted her head, not even raising her hand to pull her dark hair back from her face. Her legs began to shake uncontrollably, the involuntary spasms almost painful. She held onto the wall for support, her fingernails digging into its unyielding surface. She moved slowly, her legs threatening to give out at any moment, until she was able to traverse the remaining distance down the hallway and turn the corner, away from the questioning glances of anyone who might be watching.

Once there, she slumped back against the wall, sliding down to the floor and drawing her knees up to her chest. She studied her palms, her gaze traveling from them to the ugly white lines across her wrists, just barely peeking out beyond the ends of her long sleeves. The gray-eyed Diva wailed, a low keen of pain and anguish, burying her face in her hands and sobbing.

It would never stop. Now that it had started again, _it would never stop_, and this time, there was no escape for her. How could she possibly hope to break free? She couldn't even end her own life.

Elektra didn't know how long she remained huddled there, weeping, before she heard the footsteps. The silver-eyed Diva tensed, trying to quiet her sobs back into silence, hoping that whoever the footsteps belonged to would just leave her alone. The sounds drew closer, then stopped, and Elektra felt someone take a seat next to her. She heard the slap of leather against concrete—followed by the warmth of a strong comforting arm wrapped around her shoulders.

The gray-eyed Diva looked up sharply, swiping at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. John Cena stared sympathetically back at her. Elektra gulped for breath, scrambling for words. She could barely even _breathe_ right now; there was no way she could even tell him to go away, let alone explain why her life was so fucked up right now.

The Champ surprised her by speaking first, his hesitant demeanor a completely reversal of his usually confident attitude. His deep voice was low. "I don't know what you're going through, and I'm not asking you to tell me," he began. His blue eyes locked onto her gray ones. "I just want you to know that you're not alone."

Elektra stared at him for a heartbeat; then with a low cry, she collapsed against him, burying her face in his shoulder and clinging to his t-shirt as she wept. The Doctor of Thuganomics hesitated for only an instant before he wrapped his arms around her slender body, holding her close.

John cradled the sobbing Diva in his embrace, reaching up with one hand to gently stroke her dark hair. He didn't know what to say; he didn't know what he _could_ say to counter such abject unhappiness. Even though he didn't know the source of her pain, he could feel it almost as acutely as she could. It hurt him to see her reduced to this, because he genuinely cared for her.

Almost as much as he wanted her.

Even now, as he was trying to coax Elektra out of the depths of her misery, he couldn't ignore the intoxicating scent of her skin, or the way her body felt pressed against his. The WWE Champion wanted nothing more than to kiss away her tears, before dipping his head down to cover her lips with his…

John gave himself a mental slap. What the hell was he doing? Here was a young woman, in obvious emotional distress, and all he could think about was kissing her. More than that—she wasn't his; she was Dave Batista's fiancée. _The Animal's_ fiancée. If he so much as put a toe over that line, Dave would kick his ass. Hell, _Elektra _would kick his ass.

Besides, it wasn't a boyfriend that Elektra needed right now—but a friend. And John would be that friend. He would be there for her…even it meant suppressing his own desire. The Champ pressed his lips to the silver-eyed Diva's hair, murmuring softly under his breath and rubbing her shoulders comfortingly.

Neither of them saw Triple H standing near the other end of the hall, his bearded face unreadable as he studied the pair with intense interest. Finally, the Cerebral Assassin's mouth curled in a malicious smile and he moved back as silently as he had emerged, disappearing from sight around a corner.


	8. Chapter 8: Not Finished With You

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! As I seem to say all the time, sorry about the wait. I hit a bad patch of writer's block, and, well, you know how it goes. Plus, I was trying a few new things with this chapter, and it emotionally took a lot out of me. The good news is that I'm halfway done with the next chapter, and I should be posting it fairly soon (fingers crossed, fingers crossed!) Read, review...but please enjoy! Peace!**

**Thank you to **SandraSmit19, coolchic79260, Esha Napoleon, ThatGirl54, Westfan, Nastygrl25, wwechick24, **and **AshlynnxHearts **for reviewing the last chapter! You are all AWESOME!

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Chapter 7: Not Finished With You

Elektra stood into front of a backstage monitor, mutely observing the final few moments of Monday Night Raw. On the screen, Vince, Linda, and Stephanie McMahon embraced each other warmly, each of them beaming with pride. It would have been a touching tableau of familial love—if not for the crumpled form of Raw commentator Jim Ross at their feet. The WWE Chairman had declared last week that _someone_ would be fired, and tonight, that unlucky someone turned out to be good 'ol J.R., who had lost not only his job, but also his dignity, thanks to an unexpected low blow from the McMahon matriarch.

The silver-eyed Diva was in shock, but deep down, she wasn't really surprised. The McMahon family walked hand-in-hand with treachery; controversy was something they were accustomed to, something they _welcomed_. They were dysfunctional, true—but it was a dysfunction that worked somehow; a family that hated each other, yet was fiercely loyal to one another. If you went after one of them, you inevitably got the wrath of all of them.

Maybe that was why Bischoff was so scared of them, because all of his money, all of his authority, did not possess the basic primal power of blood. Despite everything he had achieved for the company in his tenure as General Manager, Eric Bischoff was still subject to the whims of _the family_. And _the family_ was fickle—there was no guessing whom they would choose to love, or whom they would decide to hate.

For a brief moment, Elektra allowed herself to wonder what would have happened if she _had_ told Stephanie everything. If—instead of bolting from the room—she had recounted the events that had drove her to the brink of absolute despair…and the part Raw's General Manager played in them. As she did so, she felt all of her anxiety, all of her fear, all of her self-loathing condense into a cold hard ball in the pit of her stomach, weighing her down and threatening to pull her to the floor.

Even if she had told Steph the truth tonight, it wouldn't have changed anything. The McMahons probably had selected J.R. as their victim before they even stepped foot in the arena; the confessions of one lowly Diva wouldn't have altered that—no matter how damning her story might be. And even if Steph had believed her—

The gray-eyed Diva froze, her muscles so tight that it hurt. While skipping down its usual route of excuses and self-denial, her mind had just tripped over another one of her anxieties, uncovering it and forcing it back into full awareness. It was a notion that scared her even more than Bischoff's threats: the fear that if she revealed the truth about what had happened, _no one would believe her_.

Elektra felt something inside her stumble, and her head swam, blurring the world in front of her into streams of lines and colors. "No…" the silver-eyed Diva whispered, her voice pleading. "Please…" But it was too late: a dark curtain had already been ripped open inside her mind, allowing memory to burst forth and overtake her…

_She is nineteen years old, and she is lying on the floor of a high school locker room in Reading, Pennsylvania. The name of the school will always elude her after this; only "Reading" will remain, the word seared into her memory like a brand. The town will become like the blank areas on maps of old, where sailors merely wrote: "Here Be Monsters". Even after she comes to the WWE, she will still feel a chill scurry down her back whenever she sees it listed on an itinerary._

_But that is years away. Right now, Elektra is only nineteen years old—and she has just been raped._

_She feels the gritty surface of the cement floor pressed against her face, its coolness a soothing balm. It is the only thing she can feel right now; her entire body is numb. In a moment, pain will flood back in, reminding her of the violation that just occurred, but right now, she is welcoming this absence of sensation. Better nothingness than suffocating beneath his weight, trying to summon enough breath to scream as he shoves her legs apart and forces himself inside her…_

_She can barely hear anything past the ringing in her ears, but she is pretty sure that he has gone. The pounding in her head is not his footsteps, but the relentless thud of her heart, reminding her that she is alive. Whether she wants to accept it or not, she has survived this, and she is alive, she is alive, SHE IS ALIVE—_

_Tears work their way out from beneath her closed lids, stinging as they encounter cuts and bruises on her face. Elektra slowly opens her eyes (one of them will be swollen shut by next morning.) At first, the light dazzles her, blinds her, but after a few seconds, it returns to its normal radiance and she is able to make out the shapes of her surroundings._

_ Everything is canted at a weird angle, and everything is blue. The floor, the walls, the benches, the lockers—every object seemed to have been tinted with blue. The only thing NOT blue is the spots and spatters of liquid right in front of her face, just a few inches from her nose. This substance is a vivid red, and it takes Elektra several more seconds to realize that it is blood. HER blood. She is staring at her own blood, while her mouth is filled with its coppery tang._

_She reaches up with a hand that no longer feels like it belongs to her and touches her face. She feels a wet stickiness, and when she pulls her hand away, her fingers come away red. _

_Eventually, Elektra will pull herself to her feet, using a bench for support. She will adjust her torn and disheveled clothing, and she will stagger to a nearby sink to wash the blood off her face. But right now, this numb, traumatized nineteen-year-old (who will one day become the First Lady of Evolution) is too captivated by the crimson substance staining her fingers. She is too busy replaying her rapist's final comment; the threat he directed at her semi-unconscious form as he buckled his belt._

_She will never see him again, but nonetheless, his words will haunt her for years to come. _

_"Don't even think about telling anyone, bitch. No one'll believe you anyway…"_

Elektra felt her whole body shake uncontrollably. Even though the memory had ended, she was still trapped within it, caught in the clutches of the ordeal that had shaped not only her wrestling career, but her entire adult life. Seven years might have gone by, but the gray-eyed Diva could still feel every blow, every thrust, as though it had happened only a few seconds ago. Another wave of dizziness slammed into her, turning everything around her into a funhouse mirror, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to regain control. But the vertigo persisted and Elektra swayed unsteadily on her feet, unable to stop herself as she abruptly pitched forward—

A strong hand clamped down on her shoulder, jarring her back to the present and steadying her at the same time. The silver-eyed Diva sagged a little, the tension draining from her body. The constricting feeling in her chest dissipated, allowing her to take a deep breath, then another. Her vision cleared, restoring everything to normal. She no longer felt like she was spinning. She was no longer trapped in the past. She was back in the present with both feet on the ground, and for at least this single moment in time, she was safe. Safe from Eric Bischoff—and safe from her own painful memories.

Elektra sighed, closing her eyes briefly. Once again, the Champ had come to her rescue, catching her before she fell—quite literally, in this case. The gray-eyed Diva turned around, a small relieved smile touching her lips. "Thanks, I—" Her voice trailed off into silence when she found herself staring into the cold hazel irises of Triple H.

For a second, Elektra literally couldn't move; her limbs had been petrified into place. She couldn't even form a coherent thought, let alone talk, because her mind had gone blank, wiped clean in that instant of pure shock.

The Game regarded her for several long months without saying anything. Gradually, the corner of his mouth twitched, curving up into an amused half-smile. Slowly, deliberately, he slid his hand along her shoulder up to her face, his fingers grazing her jaw. His voice, when he spoke, was soft, light—but there was no mistaking the cruelty that it masked. "Expecting someone else?"

The feeling of his hand against her skin made Elektra want to throw up. She still couldn't speak; all the moisture had evaporated from her mouth, rendering even the smallest squeak impossible. Luckily for her, though, her paralysis suddenly snapped, and the silver-eyed Diva stumbled backward, her hip connecting painfully with the edge of an equipment crate as she recoiled from the Cerebral Assassin's touch.

Triple H watched her retreat with mild bemusement, his gaze shifting subtly from her to the monitor. "Sad, isn't it? When certain people outlive their usefulness, but don't have the sense to realize it?" It took Elektra a second or two to realize that he was still talking to her. She followed his line of sight to the television screen. The cameras were still rolling out at ringside, recording J.R.'s walk of shame as he was assisted by referees from the squared circle. The Game continued. "I mean, last week, it was Ric; this week, it's good 'ol J.R.—"

When Elektra had seen the savage beating Triple H had inflicted on the Nature Boy the previous week, she had been sickened, but it was an emotion tempered with a sense of inevitability. She might have been disgusted by what had happened, but she had always known that, eventually, it _would_ happen.

_Someday, he's going to turn on you, too...Just like he turned on Randy, on me, on Dave._.. Hadn't she said that to Ric back at Wrestlemania 21? And now, six months later, her warning had finally come true.

"Don't—" the gray-eyed Diva heard herself say. It was a struggle just to get the words out; she was still trying to choke back her nausea. "Don't even _try_ and pretend that you _care_. That you're _sorry_. You _know_ that you're _enjoying_ this." Elektra tilted her chin up a little, swallowing her bile before she went on. "If they had asked _you_ to deliver that low blow…you would have done it in a _heartbeat_. And as for Ric…" The silver-eyed Diva shook her head slowly. "I warned him a long time ago about _what_ you are."

"And what's that, babe?" the Game replied. The affability was draining from his tone, the sadistic malice in his voice becoming more and more apparent. Elektra felt her stomach clench until she almost cried out from the pain. It was one thing to tell herself that she no longer had any reason to fear the Cerebral Assassin. It was quite another to stand only a few feet from him and watch the monster gradually emerge from behind those crudely handsome features.

"_Don't call me that_!" the gray-eyed Diva spat. She moved back a pace, glaring up at Triple H. "We're _not_ together anymore; you don't have the _right_ to call me that!"

The Game clucked his tongue in disapproval. "Watch the attitude, sweetheart—it's not exactly like you're in a position to act all high-and-mighty." He took a step toward her, closing the distance between them. "In case you've forgotten, babe—I'm Triple-fucking-H. I'm _the Game_. _I'm_ the one those losers out there paid to see, while _you_—" The Cerebral Assassin made a soft derisive noise. "You're just another pair of tits that talk. The only thing you had going for you was Dave—and now you don't even have _his_ leg to hump anymore."

Another step toward her. Elektra was well aware that if he chose to do so, the former World Heavyweight Champion could grab her by the throat and pin her against the wall before she even had the chance to scream. But she knew that he wouldn't, not unless she goaded him into it. Unlike Randy Orton, Triple H's milieu wasn't violence, but manipulation, and right now, he was doing just that, choosing his words carefully so as to inflict the maximum amount of damage.

Because the bruises from _these_ blows wouldn't show.

The Game continued. "You may still be fucking the Animal, babe, but that doesn't mean _shit_ anymore, because he's on SmackDown now…and you're still here on Raw." He lowered his voice, but he was so near that Elektra had no difficulty hearing him. "And without him, _you're nothing_."

The silver-eyed Diva sucked in a breath, swallowing hard. Rage flickered upward, so fast that it almost burst forth before she could check herself. But with difficulty, Elektra clamped down on her wrath, shoving it back into the dark pocket of her mind from which it had emerged. If she lost it, she would be giving the Cerebral Assassin precisely what he wanted—and after all she had already been through during his absence, she was not going to grant him that satisfaction.

Instead, the gray-eyed Diva crossed her arms over her chest, trying to ignore how fast her heart was racing, or the fact that her body wouldn't stop trembling. She stared defiantly back at Triple H. "You were gone for three months…is that the _best_ you can do?" Her voice was only a few notches above a whisper, but it was steady. Elektra slowly shook her head, mild disdain written across her face. "Whatever, Hunter. I'm done with this—" She turned to go.

"_I'm not_." The Game's voice remained quiet, but the slight change in his tone told Elektra more than any threat or command would have done. _I'm giving you a choice in this_…that tone declared. _And if you choose to defy me—I'll make you regret it_.

The gray-eyed Diva remained where she was for several long moments, her back to the Cerebral Assassin. Eventually, with evident reluctance, she turned back around to face him, arms still clasped protectively over her chest. She didn't want to—after everything he had subjected her to in the past, she would rather go straight to hell than show any subservience toward Triple H—but unfortunately, she had no other choice. She settled for scowling at him…hoping that he wouldn't sense her fear.

Triple H went on as though her interruption and his subsequent threat had never occurred. "You just can't _stand_ being nobody, can you, babe? I mean, you're a former Women's Champion. They used to call you the First Lady of Evolution. It _kills_ you, knowing that now you're _just…another…Diva._" The Game moved even closer, until his body was almost touching hers. He bent down, bringing his lips next to her ear. Elektra felt strands of his blond hair graze her face. "And just like back then…one guy still isn't enough to satisfy you, is he? You had to find another Champion to bang while Dave's away."

Elektra was so surprised that she felt her heart slam to a halt, as though it had just encountered a brick wall. She whirled around, feeling a momentary thrill at seeing the Cerebral Assassin rear back to avoid butting heads with her. "_What_?" the silver-eyed Diva sputtered. She blinked incredulously, too shocked to be upset. "_What_…_the hell_…are you _on_?"

"Don't be coy with me," The Game's smirk was still in place, but that subtle threatening tone had crept back into his voice again, warning her once again that there would be consequences if she decided to displease him. Triple H cocked his head to the side, staring at her. "You think I don't see what's going on between you and Mr. Eminem?"

For a second, Elektra had no earthly idea who he meant; then, comprehension dawned. _Ohhhhh… _She met the Cerebral Assassin's gaze without flinching, still too flabbergasted to be offended. She had always known that Triple H was crazy; was it possible that his few remaining ties to sanity had snapped while he was away? "_You_…" the grey-eyed Diva declared. "…have _officially lost it._" She shook her head. "John and I—"

"Oh, _John_, is it?" The Game's raspy growl of a voice had become a sibilant hiss, and Elektra had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Triple H's observations, so ominous a second ago, had become downright laughable. Her and _Cena_? Ridiculous.

"Yeah, _John_," the silver-eyed Diva retorted without missing a beat. Now she was the one to take a step in Triple H's direction. "What the hell else am I supposed to call him, 'Hey you'? Anyway…John is my _friend_. You know? _Friends_? Those things you don't have?"

"Friends? Let me think…" Triple H stroked his bearded chin with one hand, pretending to ponder the question. "Oh, yeah, _now_ I remember. That was the word you always used to throw back at me whenever I'd ask you why you and Dave spent so much time together." The Game's voice raised in pitch, offering a cruel mockery of her own. "'Don't be so paranoid, Hunter. Dave and I are _just friends_.'" He glanced back at her, and one look at the utter void of emotion in his eyes shattered Elektra's temporary boost of self-confidence. The gray-eyed Diva backed away, the blood in her veins freezing to ice.

"Friends?" the Cerebral Assassin repeated, his voice resuming its normal tone once more. "Oh, I know _all about_ _friends_. But some people, babe—" Triple H paused, reaching out to caress her cheek with the backs of his fingers. As soon as his hand touched her skin, Elektra almost vomited; she could actually taste the hot sour tang of it at the back of her mouth. But the silver-eyed Diva merely swallowed and forced herself to meet his gaze. "Some people…like your boyfriend…might not see it that way." The Game shrugged. "I mean, Dave's a jealous guy—"

"Are you threatening me?" Elektra was impressed by how calm her voice sounded. She moved back from Triple H, just out of arm's reach. The Game let her, dropping his hand back down to his side. From the expression of smug triumph on his face, he obviously thought he had just managed to wound her.

The grey-eyed Diva took a deep breath, allowing a tight grim smile to touch her lips. "Me and John Cena? That's a stretch, even for you." She shook her head. "It must be hard for you, having to resort to something stupid like that, all because you can't accept that you have _nothing_ to threaten me with anymore." She stared up at him, trying to avoid looking directly into his eyes, trying to avoid falling into that void where no emotion existed. "Don't you get it? You can't hurt me anymore."

Elektra opened her mouth to add something else, but realized there was nothing else to say, so instead she turned on her heel and strode away. Her heart was pounding with every step that she took; her whole body had gone numb. And she wasn't all that surprised when the Cerebral Assassin's voice echoed after her, his tone holding only the barest trace of the rage he must be feeling at her abrupt dismissal of him. "Yeah, that's right, I can't—because you're _happy_ now, right?" His words oozed sarcasm, but Elektra didn't stop walking. The Game must be, though, because his voice continued to follow her down the corridor. "You've got the perfect life, the perfect boyfriend—you've got it all. Well, tell me this, babe, if you're so _happy_…why'd you try to kill yourself?"

The gray-eyed Diva stopped so suddenly that she almost tripped. Her chest had become constricted; for a second or two, she literally couldn't breathe. Elektra closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears gathering at her lower lashes. _Shit_. She'd known that sooner or later, Triple H would stoop to using her suicide attempt as ammunition—but she'd always assumed that when that time came, she would be able to handle it.

Well, clearly, she couldn't.

Smarmy satisfaction had crept into the Game's tone, and just the sound of it was enough to engulf her brain with rage. The silver-eyed Diva clenched her fist, so hard that she could have sworn she had drawn blood this time. But she didn't turn around, didn't even look over her shoulder at him. Triple H had put her through hell, and she would be _damned_ if in any way, shape, or form, she would come crawling back to him.

The Cerebral Assassin's voice drew nearer and nearer. "That's the million-dollar question, isn't it, babe? Everyone's got their theory about why you tried to off yourself—and believe me, I've asked around. From what I hear, everyone seems to think that you went a little nuts after Dave got traded. That you couldn't stand being without him, so you tried to end it all." Triple H paused, and she felt his hot breath on her ear. Elektra clenched her teeth, forcing herself not to shrink away. "But that's not really the reason, is it?"

The gray-eyed Diva froze. No way. _No fucking way_. The Game was smart, he was ruthless—but there was no way he could have figured out that…could he?

"See, I _know_ you, babe," the Game went on. He brought his hand up, tucking a loose lock of hair back behind her ear. "I _know_ what it takes to break you." The Cerebral Assassin reached down, and gently took her wrist in his hand. He lifted it up until it was right in front of her face, using his thumb to pull down her sleeve to expose the harsh white scar. "_Someone_ did this to you. You might have been the one holding the blade, but _someone_ forced you to this point."

Elektra could barely hear him; too many other voices were reverberating in her head, drowning him out with that unnatural clarity that only memory can bring.

"See, I don't really give a damn about _why_—"

_Don't even think about telling anyone, bitch…_

"—just _who_—"

_No one'll believe you, anyway…_

"—_who_ it was that reduced you to this—"

_It's called quid pro quo, Elektra…_

"—because I figure if there's some guy out there who can push you to _this_—" Triple H ran his thumb along the line of the scar. He paused again, more for dramatic effect than anything else. His voice, when he spoke, was a cruel mocking whisper. "_Then __I want to shake his hand._"

Elektra didn't respond, didn't even think; she just _reacted._ The silver-eyed Diva whirled around, swinging her hand up to slap him. The sound of her palm striking his face sounded like a gunshot. She nailed him good, too; the Game staggered back a pace or two, holding his jaw, his blond hair obscuring his features. Elektra glared at him, her breath escaping from her in shuttering gasps. "_Fuck you_." the former First Lady of Evolution spat. She pointed at him; her entire arm was trembling with barely constrained anger. "_Stay away from me_, _Hunter_. I mean it. Stay _the fuck_ away from me. I don't belong to you anymore, and I'm _through_ putting up with your sadistic shit. _I'm finished_." Spinning around, the gray-eyed Diva almost ran down the hallway, fully anticipating at any moment to feel his hands clamped around her throat, hauling her back. It wasn't until she had turned the corner and was truly out of his sight that she was able to stop.

The Cerebral Assassin remained where he was for several long seconds, listening to the sounds of her retreating footsteps. When he could no longer hear them, he straightened up, pushing his hair back from his face. He touched his jaw again, grimacing a little. He'd forgotten how hard the little bitch could hit. But it had been worth it…just to see the faint glimmer of fear in her pale eyes.

Triple H smiled; an awful, terrible smile. _You may be finished with me, babe…_the former World Heavyweight Champion thought to himself. _But I'm not finished with you_…_You might think that you've got a great life, that you're not afraid of me anymore—but that could change…_

_That could change—and sooner than you think…_


	9. Chapter 9: What We Want

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I tried to get this one out as soon as possible. It was another emotional drainer and it gave me a bit of a migraine, but it is done, and I really hope that you like it. I really want to thank everyone who's been putting up with my lazy procrastinating self so far; you really are awesome, and your feedback means so much to me.**

**Thank you to **SandraSmit19, ThatGirl54, Esha Napoleon, Westfan, Nastygrl25, **and **Rawr-Chan **for reviewing the last chapter! You all ROCK!

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Chapter 8: What We Want

Elektra ducked her head, shielding her face beneath the brim of her cadet hat and limiting her vision to the small surface area of concrete floor directly in front of her. She knew that, from this vantage point, she risked running into someone, but at this moment, the silver-eyed Diva didn't particularly care. Right now, all she wanted to do was crawl into bed, pull the covers up over her, and sleep for about a thousand years.

And to think: when she'd arrived here for the show this afternoon, she'd actually been in a _good mood_. How foolish she'd been, to actually believe that whatever happiness she'd experienced over the past few days with Dave could remain once she returned to her own brand. Raw was hell for her; had been ever since the Animal had been traded to SmackDown. And since she was still here, it was time she got used to the inevitability of misery.

Elektra stopped, pressing her hand to her forehead and taking a deep breath. The combination of Bischoff's subtle threats and Triple H's mind games had left the gray-eyed Diva physically and emotionally drained. Her limbs felt heavy, as though someone had strapped weights to her body, and her brain seemed to have been swathed in a thick fog, dulling everything, reducing all sensation down to an unsettling numbness. It took a tremendous effort just to put one foot in front of the other, and even though her rental car was only a few yards away, the distance seemed to span miles.

It was hellish enough dealing with Bischoff; a man who had a stranglehold on not only her professional career, but her personal life as well. But now that Triple H had apparently entered the fray… Elektra couldn't suppress a shiver at the thought of the Cerebral Assassin.

The last time the silver-eyed Diva had battled the Game, she had barely survived. She had a limp to always remind her of that fact. And while she could stand here and try and tell herself that things were different now, the ugly truth was that—in many ways—they were still exactly the same.

This hatred, this constant power struggle between her and Triple H, wasn't about the World Heavyweight Championship or even her relationship with Batista. Simply put, the Cerebral Assassin would always be an amoral bastard obsessed with success—while Elektra would always be a living testament to his failure; a constant reminder of the one thing, the one _person_, he'd been unable to conquer. The Diva who had embarrassed him by sleeping with his enforcer behind his back. The _woman_ who—even with blood pouring from her nose from his blows—had still summoned enough defiance to spit in his face.

A lost championship—that was one thing. But Elektra had wounded the Game's _pride_—and _that_ was something that was neither easily forgiven nor forgotten.

The gray-eyed Diva closed her eyes, the outside world drowned out by the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. _Stop it_…she told herself sternly. _You'll survive this…you always have…_ But somehow, her reassurances sounded empty. Why bother lying to herself? Why not just accept the terrifying truth: that she was no longer certain of _anything_, especially her own survival—and that not even Dave might be able to save her this time.

"Elektra! E, wait up!" The sound of someone calling her name cut across Elektra's internal despair, thankfully returning her to the present. The silver-eyed Diva turned to see Trish striding across the parking garage toward her. The Women's Champion wasn't alone; trailing just behind her were Ashley, Maria, and the new Diva, Mickie James.

Elektra had met Mickie briefly backstage during the show, but what she had seen of the other Diva's personality, she liked. Mickie seemed like a genuinely sweet, laid-back individual; a far cry from the psycho she seemed to be in the ring during her debut. _Probably because there's only enough room for one crazy Diva on this roster…_Elektra thought to herself. She was suddenly possessed by the insane urge to laugh, and bit it back with effort—only because she knew that her friends wouldn't find the notion as insanely funny as she did.

As Trish drew nearer, the gray-eyed Diva quickly forced a smile on her face. Just stretching her mouth into that position hurt like hell, but Elektra endured the discomfort. The Women's Champion was worried enough about her as it was; the last thing she needed to hear about was this latest drama in her best friend's life.

Especially since Elektra couldn't even tell her the entire truth.

Trish stopped in front of her, the other Divas fanning out around her. She grinned at her best friend. "Hey, where've you been, hon? We've been looking everywhere for you. You bolted out right after the show."

Elektra kept smiling, even though it was starting to feel like a grimace by now. "Sorry…had a lot on my mind. It's been a long day."

"Yeah, I hear ya," Trish replied. "_Anyway_—we were looking for you because the three of us are taking Mickie here out tonight—" She slung her arm around the new Diva's shoulders, before turning her attention back to Elektra. "—to _officially_ welcome her to the Raw roster…and we wanted to know if you wanted to come along."

After the evening she had had, the last thing Elektra wanted was to go somewhere where she was surrounded by light and noise and people. All that physical sensation, pressing down on her, _smothering_ her—her head would probably explode. Right now, the absence of feeling blanketing her body was comforting, soothing, and she wanted to cling to it for as long as she could.

Because accepting this numbness was easier than allowing herself to feel.

The silver-eyed Diva slowly shook her head, her smile fading a little bit. "Sorry, guys," she answered, her tone apologetic. "Maybe some other time; I have an early flight tomorrow—"

"Um, E, this isn't a request," Ashley interjected. The Dirty Diva grinned devilishly. "See, we're not asking you; we're _telling_ you. You're coming along tonight."

"The way we see it," Maria added, her smile just as bright and mischievous. "There's _four_ of us—and _one_ of you."

"And don't even think about making a run for it," Trish cut in. "You're the one with the bum leg, and Maria has bungee cables in the car. We will strap you to the _roof_ if we have to." She took a step toward Elektra, her expression sobering a touch. "C'mon, E," the Women's Champion urged, her tone wheedling. "It's been forever since we've had a real girls' night out, and besides—it's just not the same without you."

The gray-eyed Diva didn't answer at first; merely let her gaze drift over the four eager faces staring back at her. Her expression didn't change, but inside, she could feel herself relenting. Her opinion about the invitation still hadn't changed; she really didn't feel like going out. But these were her _friends_—and as much as she might want to shut herself off from the world, she might as well accept the fact that it was not going to happen. Not tonight, at least.

And especially not with these four standing in front of her.

Elektra glanced down for a few seconds, then back up at the other Divas. "_All right_," she said reluctantly. She looked over at Trish, holding up her index finger. "But I want it on the record right now—I'm not getting drunk!"

Trish laughed, clapping her hands together. "Fair enough," she agreed. The Women's Champion moved over to the silver-eyed Diva's side, slipping her arm around her waist affectionately. "Besides—the game plan tonight to find someplace with karaoke…and then give Maria a lot of tequila—"

The backstage reporter let out an indignant squawk. "Hey, that was one time! _One time_!" she protested.

"But, oh, _what a time_!" Trish interrupted, still giggling. "I'm surprised that cell phone footage hasn't ended up on YouTube!"

"Probably because 'Ria said that she'd kill us if it did." Ashley added. At this, all five Divas broke down laughing, even Elektra.

"What's this I hear about murder and tequila?" a male voice interrupted. John Cena approached the group, slinging his muscular arms around Maria and Ashley's shoulders. He eyed the quintet with mock astonishment. "What kind of shenanigans are you five getting up to?" His gaze locked onto Elektra's. "E? You look like the voice of reason here. What's going on?"

The gray-eyed Diva shrugged, unable at this point to keep the smile off her face. "No more than usual." she replied.

"We're having a girls' night out!" Maria chirped. She tilted her head up toward John, her green eyes filled with that puppy-love that the Champ's presence always seemed to evoke. "But we can always make an exception…if you want to come along too." Her voice took on a coaxing tone. "_Please_, John?"

"I'll think about it," John answered, albeit a trifle absently. His eyes were still fixed on Elektra. "But right now…could I steal E for a second?"

The backstage reporter's sunny smile faltered for a moment. "Sure," she replied, her tone holding only the faintest note of disappointment. "As long as you promise to bring her back."

The Doctor of Thuganomics turned toward Maria, shooting her a wink. The former Diva Search contestant ducked her head, blushing. "Don't worry," the Champ assured her. "I have no doubt the four of you will come after me if I don't. E?" This last question was directed at the gray-eyed Diva. Elektra glanced around at her friends, then stepped away from the group, following John to a spot several cars away.

The Women's Champion watched them go. As she did so, she noticed that Maria was doing the same thing. The backstage reporter's eyes were fixed on Cena, her pretty features wearing an expression of wistful longing.

Ashley must have noticed it as well, because the Diva Search winner's mouth curved upward in another sly grin. "_Someone's_ got a _cru-ush_…" the Dirty Diva sang quietly. The song ended in a yelp as Trish swiftly elbowed her in the side. "Ow!" Ashley looked over at the Canadian beauty accusingly. "What was _that_ for?"

"For being immature," Trish replied, shooting her protégée a pointed glance. She moved her hands in a shushing motion, urging the other Divas forward. "Come on; let's go wait in the car until they're finished."

As the Women's Champion herded the group towards their rental car—much like a mother hen herding her chicks—she found herself thinking about the _real_ reason she had silenced Ashley's friendly teasing…one which had nothing to do with immaturity.

_Because John Cena's got a crush, too…but not on Maria…

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"So you seem to doing better," John remarked, crossing his arms over his broad chest and smiling at the silver-eyed Diva.

Elektra returned his grin. "Yeah, well, getting strong-armed by your friends into going out tends to do that."

The Champ leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Hey, if they give you any trouble tonight, just let me know."

"Are you kidding?" the gray-eyed Diva exclaimed. "If a fight breaks out between you and them—no offense, John, but I'm putting my money on those four!" Her comment was enough to make Cena burst out laughing, and Elektra soon joined him.

For a while, the two of them stood there, giggling like little kids, before John was the one to fall silent. He glanced away for a moment, and Elektra saw his expression become serious. The silver-eyed Diva felt her mirth dissipate, replaced by a faint flicker of sick dread.

The Doctor of Thuganomics looked back at her, his blue eyes boring into hers. He abruptly cleared his throat, and Elektra felt her stomach lurch. "Listen, E," John began. "About earlier—"

Elektra quickly opened her mouth, excuses ready on her lips, but before she could utter one syllable, the Champ waved his hand, silencing her. "I'm not asking you to tell me what happened. I can tell just by _looking_ at you that you don't want to tell me what happened. If you don't want to tell me what's going on, that's your decision and I _respect _that. But, E—"

John broke off, looking away and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Elektra could feel the concern and worry emanating from him in almost palpable waves, and felt guilt knife through her insides. This distress she sensed in the Champ right now—this must be how Dave felt _all the time_.

The Doctor of Thuganomics looked back at her. His voice, when he spoke again, had fallen to just above a whisper; his words shocking her to the core: "The last thing I want to see is you being wheeled out of your hotel room covered in blood again. So I _have_ to ask…" He reached out to gently grasp her shoulder. "How _are_ you?"

The gray-eyed Diva felt her heart flutter to a stop. Her chest grew tight, almost painfully so. She could feel her throat closing up, trying to render speech, even _breathing_, impossible. Elektra tried to keep her expression neutral, but it was a struggle; she was on the verge of bursting into tears.

_If I could tell anybody, it would be you…_the silver-eyed Diva thought sadly. _Not Trish, not even Dave…but YOU…because maybe you, out of everyone else, would understand…_

_But I can't…because if I tell you anything, I lose everything…_

Elektra drew in a long shuttering breath. Tears were climbing up her throat, and she swallowed hard, trying to force them back down. After what felt like an eternity, she lifted her gaze from the floor, meeting John's eyes with an extraordinary effort. "_I'm fine_," she whispered, unable to raise her voice any louder. Any louder, and it would break. "I just…I just hit a bad patch…that's all." She searched Cena's face for any doubt, any indication that he knew that she was lying. The Doctor of Thuganomics' countenance was inscrutable, but somehow, she could sense that he didn't believe her claim any more than she did.

"You know," Cena moved closer, his hand still resting on her shoulder. "You can always come to me, if you need anything." Without thinking, he reached up to tuck a lock of dark hair back behind her ear, his fingertips grazing her cheek. "I worry about you, baby doll," the Champ murmured softly.

Elektra's pale irises met his again, and the Doctor of Thuganomics felt his breath catch in his throat. This strange sensation, like a boot to the gut—was this how the Animal felt every time he looked into her eyes? And if so, how could he stand it, being apart from her? How could he have left—knowing what he was leaving behind?

_If it had been me, I wouldn't have left…_John thought to himself. _I would have dug in my heels and told them to go to hell…even if it meant losing my title, even if it meant losing my SPOT…I would have done it…because it would have killed me to walk away from her…_

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, before Elektra's cell phone suddenly went off, shattering the mood. The gray-eyed Diva quickly dug in her pocket, pulling it out, and Cena immediately recognized the ringtone as that of Batista's entrance music. "It's Dave," Elektra remarked, as though to verify this fact. She glanced back up at the Champ. "I have to—"

Cena waved her statement away before she could finish. "I understand, E." He hoped that the irritation he felt wasn't registering on his face.

Still, the silver-eyed Diva hesitated for another second or two, staring at him, the electronic device in her hand still emitting music. "You should come along tonight," she added. "Maria would be thrilled." Before John could reply, she flipped the phone open and held it to her ear, walking rapidly away from the Doctor of Thuganomics.

_But what about YOU?..._the Champ asked silently. _How would you feel?..._

_Did it cross your mind, just now?...Has it EVER crossed your mind, like it's crossed mine, what would have happened if you had come to SmackDown instead of Raw…if you had met ME first, instead of Dave—_

John instantly broke the thought off before it could continue. That kind of thinking was dangerous. He had a great friendship going with Elektra; why should he screw it up by trying to transition it into something it could never be? If he told her, if he even so much as hinted at how he really felt—it would only hurt her. And he couldn't do that, especially not to her.

One look in her eyes had told him that she had suffered enough.

The Champ glanced over at Elektra's slim figure. He was too far away to make out what she was saying, but he could hear the love and warmth in her voice even at this distance. In spite of his mental reproaches, John couldn't stop a sharp thorn of jealousy from stabbing his insides, his mind traveling back to a night he couldn't allow himself to forget…

_John walked slowly but steadily up the stairs. Since Maria and Elektra's hotel room was on the fifth floor, it would have been easier to take the elevator, but the Champ preferred the exercise. Besides, he needed the time to think, and the elevator was simply too swift for that._

_Tonight's Raw broadcast had taken place in the wake of the chaotic draft lottery. Even though he had been fortunate enough to be the first draftee, and thus had a better opportunity for acclimation than some of his coworkers, Cena still hadn't gotten used to his new role as Raw's champion. After four weeks, he was still putting up with the same posturing for dominance within the locker room, the same snide remarks, the same bullshit that he had faced ever since being transplanted from SmackDown. It was weird, and a little annoying, because even though he was the WWE Champion, he was starting to feel like a rookie all over again._

_But John's mind wasn't on locker room politics; it was on one person. One Diva, to be precise. Of all the individuals he had met since coming to Raw, Elektra was one of the few he considered a friend, and right now, he was worried about her. Over the past few days, the silver-eyed Diva had been walking around in an obvious state of depression—one so deep it seemed like she might never emerge from it whole. _

_If she emerged from it at all._

_The Champ couldn't deny that his feelings for the former First Lady of Evolution were complicated. He had been attracted to Elektra ever since they first met; an attraction that had only intensified when he had been traded to Raw. But every time he looked at the gray-eyed Diva, there was always a six-foot-five, three-hundred pound Animal blocking his path. Sure, Dave was a nice guy, and it was clear that he adored Elektra. But that logical chain of reasoning couldn't stop John's throat from swelling shut with envy every time he had to shake hands with the man._

_Nor would it change the fact that, when he had heard that the Animal was being traded to SmackDown, the very first emotion to surge through his body had been pure unadulterated elation—_

_Guilt slammed into the WWE Champion, with such force that it almost made him lose his footing. Not this way—he had never wanted it this way. He wanted Elektra, yes…but not at the expense of her own happiness. This depression that she was in—he would do anything to bring her out of it. Even if it meant going back to SmackDown, even if it meant relinquishing his title; he would do it—if it made her happy again._

_That's why he was headed up to her room at this hour; to cheer her up. Maybe between him and Maria, they would be able to coax a smile out from behind Elektra's sad countenance. One smile; that was all he wanted. Just…one…smile._

_As he neared the door to the fifth floor, John felt a prickle of unease ripple over him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. The sensation was nothing new; every successful Champion developed a heightened sense of danger awareness. But it was a feeling better suited to the back corridors of an arena; not here, where there was nothing to fear._

_Right?_

_The Champ tried to shake off his disquiet, attributing it to the eerie atmosphere of the hotel stairway. But as he opened the door and stepped out onto the fifth floor, the feeling only intensified. Unnerved, John walked cautiously down the hallway, following the brass-plated signs toward the Divas' room, stealing occasional glances over his shoulder to see if anyone was following him. As he expected, there was no one, but still he couldn't dispel this lingering feeling of apprehension, this sense that something was terribly, horribly WRONG._

_Cena turned the corner into the central corridor. About halfway down the hallway were the elevators; just opposite them was a middle-aged man clothed in the unmistakable garb of some kind of emergency personnel. He was standing outside the open door of one of the rooms, talking to someone. John couldn't see who it was, but from the tone of his voice, the EMT was attempting to calm them down. _

_The Champ knew that whatever was happening up ahead was none of his business, but yet he kept moving forward, propelled by an uncontrollable sense of morbid curiosity. Besides, a thought was beginning to form at the back of his mind…a dreadful notion crystallizing in his subconscious, ready to burst forth into full awareness._

_Just then, the medical technician moved aside, revealing the other person, and Cena's heart almost stopped when he saw who it was. Maria's pretty face was pale and composed, but from the way her whole body was trembling, she was teetering on the brink of hysteria. The knees of her pajama pants were soaked with blood, as though she had recently been kneecapped, and her slender hands (which she kept wringing together in front of her) were stained red as well. _

_John wasn't even aware that he was running; all he knew was that he reached Maria's side in what felt like no time at all. He edged past the surprised technician, taking hold of the backstage reporter's shoulders and pulling her to him. "Maria?" The Raw Diva stared up at him dully, as though she didn't know him. Cena shook her a little bit, urgency creeping into his voice. "Maria!"_

_Gradually, recognition appeared in Maria's green irises. "John?" she whispered. Then, as the Champ watched, the backstage reporter did something he had never seen her do in the month that he had known her: she burst into tears. "Oh God!" she sobbed, collapsing against him. "Oh my GOD!" Her voice rose in volume as she spoke, her last words practically a scream._

_Cena pulled her back, not because he didn't want to comfort him, but because he wanted to gauge the extent of her injuries. "Are you hurt?" he asked frantically, turning over her hands to search for any cuts. He glanced back up at her, pushing back her dark blond hair to examine her face. "Maria, what happened—"_

"_It's not mine!" the backstage reporter blurted out. Her voice was shrill, panicked. "It's not mine! It's not mine!" John was so stunned that for a moment, he literally didn't know what to think. He stared at Maria in shock, as though those three words had been uttered in a foreign tongue. Then, as his mental process kicked back into gear, as the unimaginable truth began to form in front of his eyes…the Champ felt a cold clawed hand clamp around his insides. _

_He held Maria at arm's length, praying that this was a dream, praying that he was hallucinating all this—praying that it was anything except the truth. "What do you mean…" he whispered slowly. His tongue somehow seemed too large for his mouth, making speech almost impossible. "What do you mean—it's not yours?"_

_Maria's lower lip quivered. Tears pooled in her eyes, spilling over and down her cheeks in fresh streams. When she spoke, her voice was just as low and barely contained as his. "It's E, John." she began. "She—"_

"_Sir! Out of the way!" From a great distance, Cena heard the clatter of wheels on carpet, and out of pure reflex, he pulled Maria to him and out of the way, just as two more EMTs burst through the open door, wheeling a stretcher between them. John followed their movements with his eyes, his gaze traveling from them to the prone figure on the stretcher. _

_It took him only an instant to recognize who it was._

_In that moment, the Champ forgot about everyone and everything else: the EMTs, the other guests, even Maria. He shoved the backstage reporter aside distractedly, lunging toward the stretcher. "E!" he bellowed. "ELEKTRA!" The silver-eyed Diva gave no indication that she had heard him, or anything else, for that matter. Her complexion was ashen; the only color on her body was the blood splattering her clothes. Her head lolled to the side, her dark hair falling across her face._

_Someone was at his side, grabbing onto his arm, holding him back. Someone was talking, the words coming as though from far away: "Sir! Sir, stay back! I can't let you—" But Cena was past listening. With an impatient roar, he tore his arm free, running after the EMTs and the precious cargo between them. Everything around him was a meaningless blur; all he could see was Elektra lying on that stretcher. _

_And the blood…_

_The blood…_

_The blood…_

With a snap, John returned to the present, blinking a few times as he struggled to take in his surroundings. Even after three months, the memory was still so clear, so vivid, that it drowned out reality every time he replayed it. The Doctor of Thuganomics glanced over at Elektra once more. The gray-eyed Diva had her cell phone pressed to her ear, balancing on one foot as she trailed the toe of the other across the floor in front of her.

John found himself thinking of earlier, of Elektra huddled against the wall, sobbing. For a few seconds, he had seen the misery contained within her, had caught a glimpse of just how deeply rooted that misery was. Looking into her eyes…it was hard to imagine that she'd ever truly been happy. Even now—she was smiling, yes, but it was a smile tinged with sadness; the same sadness that seemed to coat her every word, every look, every movement nowadays. Nothing had changed…and yet everything had changed.

Cena grimaced briefly, his handsome features twisting with anger. His lips moved, spitting out a muttered accusation, aimed not at Elektra, but at the man who had her heart. The man who had found her first. The man who either couldn't or wouldn't acknowledge the hell that his fiancée was clearly going through.

"_You weren't there when she needed you…"

* * *

_

A couple hundred miles away, in a similar parking garage in Huntsville, Texas, Batista leaned back against the trunk of his rental car, a warm smile spreading across his face as he listened to his fiancée. Hearing her voice wasn't the same as holding her in his arms, but it was better than nothing at all. Listening to her, he could almost feel her standing next to him, whispering in his ear.

Almost.

In two days, he would be with her again, feeling her slender body pressed against his, inhaling her scent, tasting her lips—but until then, he would have to settle for the digitized sound of her voice.

He heard Elektra let out a soft sigh, and a jolt of concern shot through him. Distance and digital technology couldn't mask the exhaustion lurking at the edges of her words. "What's wrong, baby?" the Animal asked gently, steeling himself mentally for the inevitable _Nothing_…

As much as he hating admitting it, even if only to himself, Batista was growing more and more accustomed to receiving less than a straight answer from his fiancée. Whether she was lying or merely omitting the truth—either way, she was hiding something from him.

_And it's killing her…_the Animal thought to himself. _Every day I see another piece of her disappear—but she won't tell me why…and every time I get too close to the truth, she pulls away…she retreats back within herself and she won't let me inside…_

_What are you hiding, baby?...What are you protecting me from?..._

On the other end of the line, Elektra took a deep breath. When she spoke, her tone was matter-of-fact…but her nonchalance couldn't cover up the strain in her voice. "I ran into an old friend tonight."

The clipped, bitter way in which she spat out the word "friend" turned the World Heavyweight Champion's blood into ice water, and he felt his heart momentarily miss a beat. "Who?" he asked, trying with difficulty to keep the anger out of his voice.

There was a long pause before Elektra answered, uttering one word, one name—the last name Batista had been wanting to hear from her lips: "_Hunter_."

The ice in the Animal's veins turned to fire, and without thinking, he clenched his hand into a fist, slamming it down on the trunk of the car. Elektra must have heard him, because she quickly added, "Please, Dave, don't—"

"_What did he do to you_?" Batista interrupted, his voice a low growl. His dark eyes narrowed, his vision tinged with red. In that moment, he didn't care that he was no longer on Raw. If Triple H had put so much as a hand on Elektra, pesky little things like brand divisions weren't going to save him.

"Nothing!" Elektra's voice was shrill. Was she worried that he was going to do something stupid on her account—or was it something else? Something she would never tell him? "Nothing," the gray-eyed Diva repeated, her tone calmer this time around. "It was just his usual empty threats. It's just—" She hesitated. "I thought this shit was over."

The Animal gritted his teeth, swearing under his breath. God_damn_ the draft lottery—not only had it taken him away from the person he loved the most, but it had also left her at the mercy of sociopaths like the Cerebral Assassin. And the worst part was…there was nothing he could do about it. If he showed up on Raw next week and beat the Game senseless, it would only get him kicked out of the building. And Eric Bischoff, asshole that he was, would make Elektra the scapegoat, for no other reason than because he _could_. If Batista tried to step in, he would inevitably only make things even worse for his fiancée.

"I know, baby," he finally said after a while. "I know. Just…be careful, okay?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to smack himself. That directive went without saying; it was practically a necessity of life. Eat. Breathe. Steer clear of Triple H.

He could almost see Elektra's head bobbing up and down in a nod. "I will," she whispered. For several long seconds, neither one of them spoke, the silence stretching out. In the midst of that void, Batista could hear the unspoken question hanging in the air between them, the query that had become as automatic and customary for him as "I love you".

_Before this, we didn't need to speak, because the silence said everything for us…_the Animal mused. _Now we talk to fill that silence…because it says things that we don't want to hear…_

After what felt like an eternity, the World Heavyweight Champion cleared his throat. "Listen, baby—"

"Dave, could I call you back?" Elektra abruptly interrupted. Her outburst was enough to shock the World Heavyweight Champion into silence. The silver-eyed Diva went on. "Trish and some of the others—they're waiting for me. We're going to go out for a little bit. You know, to a bar or someplace."

"Oh…well, that's great, baby," Batista replied slowly. To anyone else, Elektra's voice would have sounded normal—only he could tell that it was just a little too bright, a little too forced. Trish and the other Divas might be waiting for her, or maybe they weren't—either way, Elektra was using their invitation as an excuse to dodge The Question. "Real great—it's good that you're going out again."

What could he possibly say, what could he _do_, to contradict her? Even if he called her out on it—it wasn't like she was going to tell him the _truth_. Better to accept it, then. Better to pretend that he didn't know what was really going on.

There was another long pause, then: "I love you."

"I love you, too, E." the Animal whispered.

"'Bye."

"'Bye, baby."

The World Heavyweight Champion let his arm fall back down to his side, snapping the phone closed as he did so. He pressed his free hand to his forehead, sighing. What had his relationship with Elektra become such a minefield of buried secrets?

Batista felt a tingle sweep over his body; his subconscious's way of telling him that it sensed a presence. He looked up, starting a little when he saw the petite form of Melina standing right at his elbow. He hadn't even heard her approach.

MNM's manager was still in her ring attire, playing nervously with the slender gold chain of her necklace. Her expression was pensive, hesitant—a far cry from the haughty disdain he was used to seeing out in the ring. The Animal regarded her without speaking, his countenance impassive. Pensive or not, past experience had taught him to be wary around Melina.

The SmackDown Diva cast her brown eyes down toward the ground. After a few heartbeats, she cleared her throat, swinging her gaze back up to meet his. "Was that…Elektra…on the phone?" she asked. Her voice was soft, and every bit as apprehensive as her expression.

Batista's mouth twitched, curling into a faint half-smile, and he nodded curtly. "Yeah…that was E."

A ghost of a smile played around Melina's lips, but disappeared as she quickly ducked her head again, her blond and brown tresses falling over her face. Gradually, she finger-combed her hair back, meeting his eyes once more. "And how's she—"

"Look, Melina, _what_ do you _want_?" the Animal interjected, his tone brusque. The paparazzi princess flinched, the slim fingers of one hand stealing up to fidget with her necklace chain again. For a moment, Batista wondered if he had possibly scared her into silence.

This notion was quickly proved false, however, because in the next instant, Melina opened her mouth, her words pouring out in a rush: "Look, last week, I said some…things…to Elektra. I was kind of a bitch and I just wanted to—"

The World Heavyweight Champion knew immediately what she was referring to; Elektra had related the incident to him the previous week. It didn't surprise him; if anything, it tallied with everything else he had heard or observed about MNM's manager since coming to SmackDown. What he didn't understand was why Melina was telling _him_ about it—or why she suddenly felt compelled to apologize.

Batista waved his hand, cutting the Diva off in mid-sentence. "If you're trying to say you're sorry, don't even bother," he replied. "It's a little late—and besides, I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

"But I feel _bad_!" Melina cried, her voice taking on the faintest hint of a whine. She took a step toward the Animal, reaching out to lay her hand on his arm. "You have to understand: I have this _image_—"

The World Heavyweight Champion shook her hand off, a harsh laugh escaping his throat. "You know what? I really don't care." The paparazzi princess flinched again, as though he had slapped her, letting out a soft sound that might have been a gasp. Her brown eyes filled with tears, and her full lips trembled.

Looking at her, on the verge of tears—in spite of himself, Batista felt something inside him relent. The Animal sighed, reaching up to massage his temples with one hand. "Sorry," he said after a while. "It's…it's been a long couple days." He glanced back up at MNM's manager. "I'll tell you what: if you feel _that bad_ about it…apologize to E and I'll forget the whole thing."

Melina nodded, her face brightening a little bit. "Of course!" she exclaimed. "Absolutely! Thank you so much!"

Batista nodded along with her, although by now, he was starting to find the whole situation a little bit strange. "Okay," he remarked after several seconds. He jerked his head toward the car behind him. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

The SmackDown Diva glanced from him to the car, and then back again. "Oh, right!" she answered. Stepping courteously back, she gave him a little wave. "See you tomorrow!"

"Yeah, same here," the World Heavyweight Champion replied cautiously. Without adding anything further, he pushed his huge frame off the trunk, moving around the vehicle, opening up the door and sliding into the driver's seat. As he slammed the door shut, the Animal shook his head quickly, allowing one thought to silently pass his lips before he turned the key in the ignition.

_That was WEIRD…

* * *

_

Melina watched the taillights of Batista's car as he drove across the parking garage and out into the night. As soon as the automobile was out of her sight, the tears in the paparazzi princess's eyes evaporated. Her apologetic countenance vanished, replaced by one of calculating cruelty.

Melina cocked her head to one side, steepling her hands together under her chin, her manicured fingernails clicking together like claws. She had no doubt that Dave didn't trust her, didn't even _like_ her—but yet, in spite of all his defenses, she had still managed to sway him. It had been the tiniest concession, one which unfortunately hinged on a show of contriteness toward that whore he was engaged to—but it was a concession nonetheless.

She was slightly disappointed that his eyes hadn't strayed any lower than her face, but then again, maybe he really did love that bitch fiancée more than she'd anticipated. And if _that_ was the case, it might take longer than she had anticipated for her scheme to come to fruition.

Well, no matter. She would fake a smile and spit out an apology to that cunt Elektra, if that's what it took. Because things were going to change. And because if there was one thing the paparazzi princess could count on, it was that, eventually, she _always _got what she wanted.

And right now, what Melina wanted…was Dave Batista.


	10. Chapter 10: Painful Reminders

**A/N: That's right; I'm BACK! And this time, I'm not going anywhere. No, I'm sticking through to the bitter end with this story. I have to say that, even when this story was on hiatus, I was still thinking about it, still thinking of how to make it better. I watched a lot of my PPVs from 2005, and those gave me a TON of inspiration. So hang on, because it's going to be a bumpy ride from here on out. But...it'll be fun, too, so hopefully you'll stick around. And if you're joining for the first time, welcome! I actually starting writing this chapter before I put the story on hiatus, and I do apologize for it being a little short; blame it on me being a little rusty. :)**

**Before I begin, I really want to give a shout-out to my best friend, Rosie, aka Nastygrl25. She's been so supportive of me during this whole writer's block crisis that I have with this story, and I want to take the time to dedicate this NEW CHAPTER (yeah, that's right, I said NEW) to her. By the way, you should check out her story on this site, Second Chance. It's a Dave story, and it's awesome, and I highly recommend it.**

**SHOUT OUTS to all those folks who reviewed WAY back in the day...Thank you to **SandraSmit19, coolchic79260, ThatGirl54, Westfan, Esha Napoleon, Jemima Flute **and **Joviper54** for reviewing the last chapter! You all rock!**

**Woo-hoo! I am fired up now! Read, hopefully review, but most of all...ENJOY! Peace!**

**--Katelyn, aka DarkAngelElektra

* * *

**

Chapter 9: Painful Reminders

_You don't understand...I have this image..._

Batista frowned as he deftly maneuvered the car down the road, the steering wheel turning easily in his hands. He had spent all day traveling; first the early-morning flight from San Antonio to Baltimore, then the half-hour-plus drive from there to the small town just outside of Annapolis. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally--understandable, after having spent the past four days wrestling a pay-per-view, a SmackDown taping, and several house shows. In less than ten minutes, he would arrive at Elektra's house, where he would receive some welcome respite from his grueling schedule as a WWE Superstar--and some even more welcome alone time with his fiancee.

Normally, at this stage in the journey, Elektra would be the only thing on his mind: her eyes, her smile, the soft warmth of her body curled up against his. But for some reason, on this particular afternoon, another Diva was occupying his thought. A Diva as starkly opposite from Elektra as black was from white.

For some reason...he couldn't stop thinking about Melina.

It wasn't the paparazzi princess that intrigued him, however, so much as her behavior the night before. The Animal had had more than his share of encounters with MNM's manager since being traded to SmackDown, none of them nice, and he would have banished this one from his memory as well if it hadn't been so...well..._weird_.

_You don't understand...I have this image..._

Was that Melina's version of an apology? An explanation? And her demeanor--so contrite, so sincere...so unlike what he had glimpsed from the Dominant Diva since coming to SmackDown. In the four months that he'd spent on the Friday night franchise, Batista had watched Melina--with those two boy-toys of hers in tow--stomp on anyone and everyone who got in her way.

Regret, remorse, _compassion_--if the paparazzi princess possessed any of these traits, he had yet to see them. For her to suddenly offer up an apology--not even to him, but to _E--_was, for want of a better term, _weird_.

The World Heavyweight Champion abruptly shook his head, switching mental gears and shoving this particular train of thought back into the depths of his subconscious. With everything going on in his life right now, he didn't have time to worry about the Dominant Diva's apparent change of heart. It was hard enough, being the top athlete, the _champion_, on a brand that still wasn't entirely sure that it wanted him. And then there was this whole situation with E...

Batista stopped as a big wall of guilt slammed into him. He hated using words like "complicated" or "problematic" when referring to the love of his life, the woman he planned on marrying--but sometimes, there just was no other way to put it. Her suicide attempt--as much as he would have chewed off his own arm than use that term, there was no other choice but to identify it as what it was--her suicide attempt had driven a wedge between them, barely perceptible, but there nonetheless. And if E persisted in keeping up this self-imposed barrier of silence, then things between them were only going to become more and more strained.

The love was still there; the love would _always_ be there. But there was distance between them now; distance that, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't seem to bridge.

The Animal sighed. What had Elektra done, what had either of them done to deserve what had happened three months ago? Everything had seemed so perfect: he had just successfully defended his title in the Devil's Playground against the Devil himself—and in doing so, had driven away the last and the worst of his fiancée's tormentors. He was the World Heavyweight Champion, engaged to the woman he loved, the woman he _adored. _They had already set a date for the wedding—everything had been _right_. Everything had been _perfect_.

But then, all of a sudden, everything had changed. He had been traded to Smackdown—and from that point on, everything had gone straight to hell…

He'd thought that, once he'd pinned Hunter inside that steel cage, that it was all over, that he and Elektra had survived the worst thing life could possibly throw at them. How wrong he'd been. The Cerebral Assassin was a sick bastard and the Devil Incarnate, but he was also only human. He could be overpowered, beaten, bloodied; Dave had done it before, and had no qualms about doing it again. But all that brute force, that raw animalistic strength and power he possessed…what good was it when the threat, the danger, was now lodged inside the psyche of the woman he loved?

Three months ago, Elektra had tried to kill herself. Three months ago, she had reached a point where she'd had to choose between him and death—and had still decided that dying was somehow the better option. And that scared him more than anything, even more than not knowing why, because it meant that love was not enough.

After everything that he and Elektra had been through, the one thing, the _only_ thing that either of them could count on was that they loved each other. But now, all of a sudden, that love was no longer sufficient. If his feelings for Elektra were no longer enough to keep her from slashing her wrists open with a razor blade, then what chance did he have of saving her if—God forbid—there was a next time? What if he _couldn't_ save her?

And if he couldn't save her…then what good was he to anyone else?

Batista's thoughts returned to the present as he pulled into Elektra's driveway. Even though his mind had been elsewhere, his body knew the route by heart, allowing him to arrive without incident. The World Heavyweight Champion put the car in "Park" and turned off the ignition, easing his massive frame out of the driver's side.

The Animal paused, taking in his surroundings. All around him were two-story houses, backyards, white picket fences. Everything seemed so calm, so serene, so _normal_. When he came here, he could almost forget that his own life was anything but.

_We could have this..._Batista thought to himself. _This could be our life, too... _He glanced over at the adjacent house, where three or four of the neighborhood kids were playing tag in the front yard. The children barely glanced in his direction; they were more than accustomed by now to the periodic comings and goings of the SmackDown Superstar. _Those could be our kids playing out there..._the Animal mused. _Our kids...E's and mine..._

The World Heavyweight Champion felt a slow smile slip onto his face. He could always tell when he was getting close to Elektra, because this extraordinary sense of peace would fall over him; this feeling that no matter what was happening—either in the ring or between the two of them—somehow, it would be all right in the end. It didn't surprise him; the emotional connection between him and Elektra had existed long before the consummation of their physical relationship. During their time in Evolution, they had been forced to deny their feelings for one another, to look but never touch, to imply but never say. Therefore, they would never need words to describe how they felt about each other.

All he had to do was look into her eyes to know that she loved him—just as he loved her. He would always love her, and despite the obstacles that life kept putting in their path, he knew in his heart that they were meant to be together.

Stopping long enough to grab his suitcase out of the trunk, Batista jogged up the front steps, letting himself in with the key Elektra had given him. He and the silver-eyed Diva had been trying to move in together since the summer, but unfortunately, just like everything else, that too had been forced to take a back seat to their careers. So they'd compromised, settling for trading house keys and alternating weeks; one week, he'd stay with her, and the next, she'd come down and stay with him.

The Animal cautiously stepped inside. "E?" he called softly. There was no answer. The living room was deserted, its appearance only slightly less chaotic then it had been back when he'd first visited in December. Batista set his suitcase down next to the door, moving quietly through the downstairs. He checked the kitchen, the dining room--he even poked his head in the sunroom at the back of the house, where Elektra seemed to be content to spend more and more of her time lately. No luck; the glass-enclosed space was empty, too.

Moving back into the living room, Batista jogged up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He paused for a moment to admire the large framed magazine cover that hung at the mouth of the upstairs hallway. The picture had been taken for the May issue of Raw Magazine, and featured him and Elektra standing together, her leaning back against him, his arm wrapped protectively over her chest. The powers-that-be at the magazine clearly must have also had a sense of humor; the headline they'd chosen read: "Beauty & the Beast".

The World Heavyweight Champion glanced down the dimly-lit hallway, his smile fading. The silence filling the house, previously peaceful, now seemed ominous, unnerving. Nowadays, silence terrified him more than the loudest pyrotechnics. It would always remind him of how quiet it had been that night, before one phone call had changed his life forever...

_He hadn't been there_--that accusation would haunt him forever. And he was always gripped by the irrational fear that life was going to punish him for not being there; that Elektra was going to try again, and he would arrive just in time to see the pool of blood--but too late to save her.

Up ahead of him, the door to the master bedroom was slightly ajar, a beam of weak autumn sunlight spilling out into the hall. Resting his hand lightly against the wood, Batista took a deep breath and pushed it up. The air immediately exited his lungs in a relieved sigh when he saw the silver-eyed Diva lying on the king-sized bed, asleep. She was wrapped in an oversized white hoodie that he quickly recognized as his, and a white knitted afghan covered her legs. Her beautiful face was serene, the worry and sadness absent for once, and the tiniest smile touched her lips.

Slipping off his shoes, the Animal tiptoed across the room, climbing onto the bed and crawling over to where Elektra lay. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

Elektra stirred, her eyes fluttering open, her silver irises lighting up the moment she saw him. "Hey," the gray-eyed Diva whispered, her voice still husky from sleep.

"Hey yourself, Sleeping Beauty," Dave murmured, his face creasing in a tender smile.

Elektra scrunched her face up in disagreement. "Yeah, right--I look like hammered shit."

The Animal chuckled softly, draping his arm over her body and pulling her close. "Baby, if _you _look like shit, then the rest of the female population might as well just give up because _you _are, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I've seen all day."

A smile touched the corners of Elektra's mouth. "Liar."

"Never." Dave whispered, dipping his head down to seal her mouth in a kiss. The pair embraced for a while before the Animal reluctantly pulled back, biting back a yawn. "Sorry, E--it's just been a long day."

The silver-eyed Diva merely smiled, reaching out to touch his cheek. "You're here now," she replied. "That's all that matters to me."

Dave wrapped his arms around Elektra's slender frame, pulling her against his chest. "I missed you, baby."

"I missed you, too."

The Animal was already drifting off to sleep; his final words were so soft that only Elektra could have heard them. "I worry about you, E...all the time." And then he was gone, deeply ensconced in the oblivion of slumber, his massive body rising and falling with each breath.

The gray-eyed Diva's smile faded, her expression crumpling into one of pain. Taking care not to wake Dave, she inched her body upward, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. "I know..." she murmured, her voice cracking. "And I'm sorry..."

"_I'm so sorry..."_

* * *

Elektra reclined on the sofa, her head pillowed on Dave's huge thigh, while she flipped idly through a wedding dress catalog. Above her, the Animal was using the remote control to channel-surf, but from the way he kept glancing down at her, his focus was clearly not on the television. Reaching over, he brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face, his fingers caressing the line of her jaw.

The silver-eyed Diva gazed up at him, smiling. "See anything you like?" She gestured with the magazine.

Without taking his eyes off her face, the Animal jabbed his finger at the glossy pages. "That one."

Elektra glanced at his selection, unable to keep back a giggle. "Dave...that's a measurement chart."

Dave shrugged, chuckling. "What can I say, baby? I'm a guy." The two of them burst out laughing. "But seriously, E," the Animal added when both of them had calmed down. Elektra arched her head back, looking up at him. Dave touched her face, running his fingers over her lips. "The only thing I care about is putting that ring on your finger, looking into your eyes...and promising to love you for the rest of my life."

"Dave..." The silver-eyed Diva pulled herself up into a sitting position. Tears were glistening in her pale irises. Dave reached out, touching her cheek, pulling her to him--but just before their lips could make contact, Elektra pulled back, emitting a yelp of pain.

Instantly, the Animal's amused countenance turned to one of concern. "Oh my God, baby, did I hurt you?" he asked, his tone bordering on frantic.

The gray-eyed Diva immediately shook her head, still wincing in discomfort. "No...it's my neck; I must have slept on it funny. Plus, you're so hard--" She stopped, realizing what she was saying. She shot a Look at Dave, who was already struggling to keep the grin off his face. "Get your mind out of the gutter."

The Animal laughed. "Can I help it if you turn me on?" Leaning over, he placed a gentle kiss on the curve of her neck. "Hang tight; I'll grab you some Advil."

"You don't have to do that--" Elektra protested.

"Yeah, but I want to," Dave interrupted, cutting her off and effectively ending the argument. Rising to his feet, he sauntered over into the small downstairs bathroom, snapping on the light and opening up the medicine cabinet. The Advil was exactly where he remembered it: on the third shelf next to the Band-Aids. As he reached for the container, Dave paused, his attention arrested by the objects on the shelf directly above it.

They were prescription pill containers, two of them; the same generic orange pill bottles that you see anywhere. They had both been prescribed to Elektra; both of them within the past two months. Dave didn't understand the scientific terms written on the label, but he recognized the brand names.

One medication was for the treatment of anxiety. The other...was for treating depression.

As Dave stood there, frozen, captivated by the sight of these two orange containers and the cold clinical language printed on their sides, all he could think was that things were never going to get better, never going to go back to okay. How could things ever go back to the way they were when there were all these painful reminders scattered throughout their lives?

"Dave?" The tentative sound of Elektra's voice jolted the Animal out of his reverie and he jumped, almost losing his grip on the Advil container. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine, baby," Dave replied. Quickly, he unscrewed the cap and tapped two Advil into his palm, before returning the pill bottle to its original. He slammed shut the medicine cabinet door--much harder than he intended--turning his back and walking back out into the living room.

Dave sank down onto the couch next to Elektra, handing her the pain reliever. The gray-eyed Diva accepted the capsules gratefully, popping them into her mouth and taking a few swigs from a water bottle she had on the coffee table. The Animal watched the contours of her throat undulate as she swallowed, his gaze unconsciously traveling to the flash of white scar tissue peeking out from her sleeve.

_Were you thinking about me, baby, when you did it?..._the World Heavyweight Champion asked his fiancee silently. _Were you thinking of ANY about us, of what we would go through without you here? _

_ Or were you only thinking about yourself and your own pain and how to make it stop?..._

Elektra set the water back on the coffee table, and Dave hastily swung his gaze back up to her face. The silver-eyed Diva smiled, and the sight of her face lighting up with happiness was enough to send the Animal's doubts scurrying to the back of his mind. All that mattered, all that had _ever_ mattered, was being here, with Elektra. The woman he loved. The woman who was going to become his wife.

Elektra stretched a little, crawling over and climbing onto Dave's lap, her legs straddling his waist. "So..." the gray-eyed Diva purred, her voice falling to a seductive murmur. "What kind of dress do _you_ think I should get?"

"Hmmm..." the Animal mused, reaching to grab onto her waist, pulling her a little closer against his body. "Well...there's always a burlap sack--"

Elektra shook her head. "Nah-ah, too itchy. Plus, it'll look weird in the wedding photos." She gasped a little as Dave's hands slipped under her shirt, traveling slowly upward. "Any other suggestions?"

"Yeah," Dave replied, his voice growing husky. Plucking at the edges of her long-sleeves shirt, he tugged it up and off her body. "How about nothing at all?"

* * *

Elektra lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Normally, lying here, wrapped in Dave's arms, was enough to send her falling away toward sleep, but tonight was different. Tonight, she was gripped by a kind of insomnia, plagued by both the inability to sleep and the fear of what would happen if she did so.

But then again, a good night's sleep was yet another thing that had slipped from her grasp over the last months, wasn't it? Along with her sanity, her sense of security, her self-worth--she was running out of non-tangible things to lose. Pretty soon, it would be the tangible things in her life--her career, her few remaining friendships, her life with Dave--that would start disappearing...and when that happened--

_No._ She could not let that happen. Being alone--_totally_ alone--once again would be worse than anything she had endured. Worse than being Batista-Bombed. Worse than Triple H. Worse than Randy Orton.

Worse even...than being raped.

With slow, cautious movements, the silver-eyed Diva carefully extricated herself from Dave's embrace. The Animal stirred, and Elektra froze, certain that he was going to wake up and ask her what she was doing. But the World Heavyweight Champion merely groaned quietly in his sleep, and rolled over onto his back.

The gray-eyed Diva let her breath out in a quiet sigh. With the same tentative caution, she eased her slender frame off the bed and padded toward the door--making sure to grab a small carved wooden box off her vanity before exiting the room.

Elektra knew the layout of her own house well enough to navigate through the darkness without incident. It wasn't until she reached the sunroom that she turned on a light, a floor lamp that cast golden light across the glass-enclosed space. Elektra walked over to her favorite seat--a white padded chaise lounge--and sank down onto the cushion. She held the box out in front of her, studying it for a moment before taking a deep breath and lifting the lid.

The box contained her favorite and most treasured pieces of jewelry. The diamond pendant she had wore at Wrestlemania 21. The silver ring Dave had given her last Christmas. The velvet box that contained her engagement ring. But Elektra pushed aside these precious trinkets, seeking out something far less attractive...and far more insidious.

The razor blade was small, only an inch or so in length, and when the silver-eyed Diva lifted it out of the box, light glinted dully off the honed edge. She turned it to one side, then the other, studying the blade with a kind of morbid fascination.

It seemed so strange that such a small thing could be responsible for so much destruction; that it could tear her life apart as easily as it had torn her flesh. And it still scared her how quickly she'd been able to make that critical decision; how she'd coldly analyzed all the factors in her life, all the people her death would have impacted...and yet somehow determined that death was the better option.

Maybe that was one of the positives of surviving; it had afforded her the common sense and clarity to see just how stupid and selfish her actions had been. But in some ways...surviving was worse, because it meant going through life in a world that was now half-afraid of her, a world that could no longer truly accept her.

Dying was easy, living--now _that_ was hard.

Elektra closed her hand around the blade, feeling its honed edge dig into her palm. She no longer felt the urge to cut--that had been bled out of her back in July. But she would always contemplate the blade. She would always keep it close to her, to remind her that for a few dark moments of her life, it had been her only friend...and her only option.

And if things kept getting worse; if her life continued to disintegrate as she feared it was destined to...then there was a good chance this tiny scrap of metal could once again become her sole ally.

The gray-eyed Diva shook her head, tears gathering and spilling down her cheeks. "No..." she whispered. "I can't...I _won't_...I won't make him go through that...not again...not because of me..." But already, memories were starting to overwhelm her--

_The way I see it, we both have something that we want_...

--memories that refused to stay buried--

_I know what you want..._

_ --_memories that threatened to destroy her from within--

..._So are you going to give me what I want?..._

Elektra clapped her hands over her ears, but it wasn't enough to keep _the voice_ out, that hated voice spitting out the phrase that had haunted her for three months...

_It's called quid pro quo, Elektra_...

With a low cry, the silver-eyed Diva burst into tears. She sobbed so hard that she could barely breathe, her body heaving with the effort of crying. But Elektra clapped her hands over her mouth, muffling the sounds of her misery...lest Dave overhear her. Still, that didn't stop a few words from trickling out into the open:

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...I never wanted to hurt you...I never wanted to hurt _anyone_..."

Elektra collapsed onto the chaise, pressing her face against the white fabric as she wept.

"Forgive me, Dave....please...forgive me..."

She was so wrapped up in her crying, she never saw the figure standing in the darkness of the doorway. From the shadows, Dave silently watched his fiancee weep...his own heart breaking as well.


	11. Chapter 11: Leave Me Alone

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! This is officially the first new chapter I've written since taking this story off hiatus, so yay for that. I'm still a tad rusty, but I'm getting better, so bear with me. This story is kind of my baby, and therefore, I'll always be a perfectionist when it comes to this. Hopefully, all of you will enjoy it.**

**Thank you to **Joviper54 **and **Nastygrl25 **for reviewing the last chapter! Love yas all very much!**

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Chapter 10: Leave Me Alone

Elektra eyed her reflection in the mirror, reaching up with one finger to apply a fresh coat of gloss to her lower lip. Like most of her preparations nowadays, it was probably all for naught, but then again, better safe than sorry.

The gray-eyed Diva leaned back, stretching a little as she screwed the top back on her tin of lip gloss. Two weeks had elapsed since her near-catastrophic conversation with Stephanie McMahon, since her terrifying encounters with Eric Bischoff and Triple H. Since then, all three had kept their distance from her--or maybe _she_ was keeping her distance from _them_. She wasn't sure; the days seemed to go by in a blur lately. The two halves of her life--the hell she endured here on Raw and the bliss she experienced with Dave--were starting to bleed together, creating an existence neither good nor bad, but nevertheless utterly unbearable.

She was shutting Dave out. Elektra knew that, could sense the wall between them growing just a little bit thicker with every one of his questions that went unanswered. But what was worse than that was that he was starting to _let_ her. She was pulling away from him, and instead of reeling her back in, instead of grounding her like he always had in the past, her fiancee was enabling her, allowing her to slip from his grasp.

He was losing patience...or else he was losing hope. Either way, Elektra knew, with an ever-increasing sense of desperation, that she had to get ahold herself. She had to fight for this...or she was going to lose the one person who meant the world to her.

The locker room door swung open suddenly, startling her back to the present, and the silver-eyed Diva glanced over her shoulder to see who it was. Almost immediately, her pale irises narrowed and her mouth compressed into a thin line as Lita strolled into the changing area.

The Queen of Hardcore's brown eyes swept over the space, her pretty face registering only faint surprise when she saw Elektra standing at the makeup counter. Lita shrugged. "Sorry, thought this place was empty," She paused, her alto voice slightly mocking. "Then again, since it's only _you_...it might as well be."

Elektra rolled her eyes, turning back toward the mirror. The red-haired Diva's casual insult was nothing new; nothing she hadn't already seen or sensed in the expressions of almost every other Superstar or Diva. The only difference was that, out of everyone, Lita was one of the few with the balls to actually say what she was thinking.

The gray-eyed Diva's silence didn't seem to faze Lita; she merely smirked and sauntered across the room to join Elektra at the makeup counter. The Queen of Hardcore hopped up onto the makeup counter, tossing her hair over one shoulder and combing her fingers through her vibrant tresses. She studied their shared reflections in the silvered glass, her countenance disdainful as she took in Elektra's dark fuschia minidress and similarly-hued boots. "Nice," the red-haired Diva remarked. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes still locked on Elektra. "Kind of a waste, though...don't you think?" Lita's smirk widened just a touch. "I mean, the _only_ way _you're_ going to make it onto the show tonight is if that retard Maria lets you hold her microphone."

Elektra swung her gaze toward Lita, her pale irises making a similar assessment of the other Diva's low-riding black pants, the cut-off black top that barely covered her ample cleavage. "At least I won't have to listen to an entire arena calling me a slut," the gray-eyed Diva retorted.

"Not _anymore_, you mean," the Queen of Hardcore answered without missing a beat.

Elektra rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to her own reflection. "Whatever..." she muttered, reaching up to push a bobby pin back into place.

Lita stared at her for several long seconds before she spoke again, an edge creeping into her voice this time. "You know, I've really never understood why you jumped on the whole 'let's treat Amy like a leper' bandwagon." At this, the silver-eyed Diva froze, but said nothing. Lita went on. "I mean, everyone else, I understand--it's all very high school, but I understand. But _you_--"

The red-haired Diva leaned closer to Elektra, her voice a sibilant hiss. Everything about her--her face, her eyes--had gone steely. "A year ago, you were doing the exact same thing that I did--and I don't know if you've taken a look around lately, but you're not exactly in a position to judge _anyone_...let alone me." The Queen of Hardcore paused. "You and me, E...we're actually a lot alike."

Elektra whirled around, her pale irises glinting like polished metal as she glared at her former friend. "I'm _nothing_ like you," the gray-eyed Diva spat, her tone disdainful.

Lita didn't even flinch; merely met Elektra's gaze steadily. "Oh, really?" the red-haired Diva replied, her voice low and dangerous. "I think we're more alike that you think. Look at us." She gestured between the two of them. "We're outcasts, E. No one trusts us--no one wants anything to _do_ with us. _Me_ because I'm a 'slut'..." Lita used her fingers to carve imaginary quotation marks in the air. She glanced down, staring pointedly at the chunky bracelets covering Elektra's wrists. "...and _you_ because...you're crazy."

Elektra didn't respond, but at her side, her nails dug into her palm hard enough to break the skin. THe gray-eyed Diva abruptly pushed herself off the counter, storming toward the door. "I don't have to listen to this--"

Lita turned her head, her eyes following the other Diva's movements. "Maybe that's why I'm the only one who knows the truth!" she called out, her voice challenging. "That you're not crazy--you're _scared_!"

Elektra froze, one hand still outstretched toward the door. She didn't turn turn around, didn't dare to--she was too afraid that Lita would see the color draining from her face. Lita slid off the counter, sauntering over to where the silver-eyed Diva stood. "Something's got you terrified," the Queen of Hardcore remarked. "A big bad secret that you don't want anyone else to know about--and _believe me_...I know _all about _those kinds of secrets."

Lita stopped just behind Elektra, leaning over her shoulder, her mouth next to the other Diva's ear. "What happened, E?" she asked, malicious satisfaction dripping from every word. "Have a little too much to drink one night and have a little too much _fun_ with one of the other guys on the roster? Or maybe more than that, maybe someone higher up--"

Elektra spun around, and Lita's poisoned words ended in a surprised yelp as the other Diva slapped her. The Queen of Hardcore stumbled back, clutching the side of her face. Elektra regarded her without pity, raising up her hand to point at the red-haired Diva. Her arm was shaking. "You _shut_ your _mouth_," the gray-eyed Diva whispered, her voice tremulous with barely contained emotion. "Don't you ever, _ever_ lump me in you!"

She took a step toward Lita, her voice still low. "You and me...our issues go a hell of a lot deeper than what you did to Matt Hardy...and as far as I'm concerned--we have nothing more to say to one another." With that, she turned her back on the Queen of Hardcore, throwing open the door and striding out into the hall.

Lita slowly straightened up, gingerly rubbing her bruised cheek, her expression warping into one of pure spite. She stared at the doorway, watching as the door gradually swung closed. "Careful, E," she murmured viciously. "That's the bitch about secrets--"

"--sooner or later, _someone always finds out..._"

* * *

Elektra pressed her hand to her mouth, struggling to rein in her emotions before she lost control of them completely. Her legs shook, threatening to send her to the ground, and she stopped, leaning against the wall for support. Tilting her head back, she squeezed her eyes closed, unable to keep one or two involuntary tears from rolling down her cheek.

How was it that the people she wanted nothing to do with--Orton, Triple H, Lita--seemed to have her figured out perfectly? Last week, the Cerebral Assassin had come dangerously close to guessing the truth; this week, it had been Lita who had nearly hit the mark. And while she could claim that they knew nothing, that they were merely looking for yet another way to wound her, there was no denying that the situation was starting to spin out of her control.

Bischoff wasn't finished with her; the gray-eyed Diva knew this with a dreadful certainty. Whatever the General Manager's plans for her entailed, they wouldn't end until he had extracted every ounce of happiness or hope still left within her. Because Eric Bischoff, in addition to being a ruthless businessman and a generally distasteful excuse for a human being...was also a sadist.

She had learned this firsthand.

The silver-eyed Diva swallowed hard, almost choking on the lump of emotion clogging her throat. _Why is this happening to me_?...she thought to herself miserably. _All I ever wanted was be with Dave--why am I being punished like this_?...

She didn't receive an answer to her question, not that she was expecting one. In a way, she already knew the answer--_because she could be_.

A hand touched her arm, and Elektra jumped, hastily wiping the tears from her cheeks. She opened her eyes to see a headset-clad technician staring back at her. "Eric Bischoff wants to see you," was all he said, his voice flat and uninterested.

His seemingly callous behavior didn't even wound Elektra--after all, why should he care? He was just the messenger, and she was just another Diva...a crazy one, at that. The silver-eyed Diva instead pressed her lips together in a tight smile, nodding curtly. Pushing herself off the wall, she set off in the direction of the General Manager's office.

Every step she took felt like hell, as though she was treading barefoot on red-hot coals. But that was appropriate, because it was hell she was heading toward, wasn't it? Only in this case, the Devil had silver-gray hair instead of horns, and rather than a pitchfork, in his hand, he carried a cell phone...

By the time she reached Bischoff's office, Elektra's chest had become so tight that she could barely breathe, and she knew that she was only a second or two away from hyperventilating. But the gray-eyed Diva gritted her teeth instead, shoving away the lightheaded feeling threatening to overwhelm her. Bischoff wouldn't give a damn if she passed out or not, and if she did--well, at least then she wouldn't have to look at him.

The silver-eyed Diva raised her hand, rapping hesitantly on the door, just below the nameplate reading "RAW General Manager". Almost instantly, she heard Bischoff bark "Come in!" from within. Elektra's hand hovered over the door knob, as once again, she contemplated running away instead, but in the end, she grasped the handle, turning it and entering the room.

The first thing she saw, of course, was Eric Bischoff, seating at his desk, hands folded together in front of him, his eyes glued to her face. The second thing she saw was that he was not alone.

Trish was seated in front of the General Manager's desk, and as Elektra stepped into the office, she immediately turned around. Her pretty face lit up in an expectant smile, and she quickly patted the chair next to her.

At the sight of the Women's Champion, Elektra felt a simultaneous surge of both relief and trepidation. With Trish here, Bischoff would be less likely to toy with her. On the other hand, though...maybe he just wanted an audience.

The silver-eyed Diva started to move toward her friend, then halted, shooting a cautious glance at Bischoff. The General Manager waved his hand impatiently, indicating that she could sit. Elektra did so, smoothing down her short skirt, crossing her ankles together decorously, staring expectantly at Bischoff.

Raw's General Manager cleared his throat, looking from one Diva to the other. "Elektra," he began, and the gray-eyed Diva felt the bottom of her stomach drop out. "Trish came to me a few minutes ago with a proposition--the problem is that she refused to tell me what it was without you here. So, now that you are--" Bischoff gestured at the Women's Champion. "Trish?"

The Canadian beauty glanced down at her lap for a few seconds, collecting her thoughts, before swinging her gaze up to meet the GM's. "I want to work a program with Elektra," Trish announced. "For the Championship."

Elektra felt something leap inside her, a queer sickening jolt of surprise. The Women's Champion reached over, giving her a reassuring pat on the arm before continuing. "We wrestled all these great matches last year--wouldn't it be great if we could revive the feud again? E won the match for our team at Homecoming three weeks ago--we could play off of that."

Trish gestured between the two of them, her voice warming to the subject. "She could turn heel--or I could turn heel again--and Ashley and Mickie...we could split them up. You know, Ashley could side with E, and Mickie with me--"

Elektra watched her friend as she spoke, feeling the painful ache of conflicting emotion. While she was flattered that Trish thought so highly of her wrestling abilities, and touched that the Women's Champion would go out on a limb for her like this--she also knew, with a sinking feeling, that it was never going to happen. Not now--maybe not ever.

Not as long as Bischoff remained Raw's General Manager.

Not as long as he considered her punishment to be an item of unfinished business.

Trish fell silent, and Elektra realized that she had finished. Bischoff was quiet for a few moments, as he considered the notion. "You do realize," he began slowly. "That I'll have to take the time to consider something like this."

The Women's Champion nodded eagerly, a hopeful smile illuminating her face. "Of course. I understand--"

"I've considered it," Bischoff interrupted brusquely, cutting her off, and the Canadian beauty sat back in her seat, stunned and clearly a little bewildered. "My answer is this--"

The General Manager looked from one to the other again, his gaze settling just a little longer on Elektra--just enough for her to see the cruel delight in his eyes. The gray-eyed Diva bit the inside of her lip to keep herself from reacting, her hands gripping the chair's arms so hard that her knuckles flushed white. Bischoff looked at Trish once more. "While your idea is amusing--I fail to see any compelling reason why I should put Elektra in a wrestling match _at all_...let alone one for the title."

The silver-eyed Diva barely reacted; merely flinched a little, as though she had been struck. Trish, on the other hand, was flabbergasted; nearly knocking her chair over as she jumped to her feet. "You can't be serious," the Women's Champion exclaimed. She pointed at Elektra, her arm shaking. "E is one of the best wrestlers here--"

"Of course she is," Bischoff interrupted, that obnoxious unctuous tone creeping into his voice again. He leaned back in his seat, smiling a little. "That explains why she's had so much in-ring action in the last few months." The GM clasped his hands together over his chest, lacing his fingers together. "I do hear, though, that Candice Michelle is improving somewhat. Maybe you'll be able to pull a halfway-decent match out of her."

Trish's expression twisted with dislike and anger. "This is _bullshit_!" the Canadian beauty raved. "I want--"

"What you _want_ is irrelevant," Bischoff interjected, rising to his feet as well, the first notes of irritation entering his tone. He pointed to himself. "_I _make the title matches around here, _not_ you, and I'm not going to just _hand them out_ because you asked." He fastened his eyes on Elektra again, the look in them even more malicious. "_Certainly_ not to Divas with...shall we say?..._questionable_ mental stability?"

Trish shook her head slowly, her countenance filled with loathing. "You son of a--"

"My decision is final," Bischoff snapped, the authority in his voice backing up his words. His gaze was still on Elektra. "Unless..."

At this, Elektra felt her blood freeze into ice. She could feel the manipulation in Bischoff's tone, could feel it pressing against her skin, digging into her. "Unless..." the Raw GM repeated in that same awful tone. "Elektra? You've been fairly quiet during all of this? Anything you'd like to add to the conversation?"

As much as she would have given a year's pay not to look up, the silver-eyed Diva did so, almost fainting when she locked eyes with the General Manager. She had entertained the notion, had wondered what Eric Bischoff had left in his arsenal to torment her with--now she knew. This possibility this hint that she had some say in the decision...it was just a trap, designed to lure her into an open show of defiance. Because if she stood up to him, in _any _way--he would use it as an excuse.

An excuse to break the arrangement between them. An excuse to destroy her life.

And as much as she wanted to defy him, as much as she wanted to look him in the eye and tell him to go to hell...she couldn't do that. She couldn't afford to lost what little she had left. She couldn't lose Dave...not again.

Elektra ducked her head, her voice a barely audible whisper: "No, sir,"

Trish's mouth dropped open, and she stared at her friend with incredulity. "E, what's--"

Even though she couldn't see the Raw GM, she could still hear him smile. "That's what I thought," Bischoff glanced back at Trish, as though remembering her presence. "Now, sorry to cut this short, but I've got a show to prepare for." He gestured at the door. "So...if you'll excuse me...."

* * *

The door to Bischoff's office flew open, and Trish stormed out, followed closely behind by Elektra. The Women's Champion's face was set in an expression of tightly controlled rage, and her hand was clenched in a death grip over her red-and-gold title belt.

Elektra hurried after her, struggling to keep up with her best friend's furious pace. "Trish, please," the silver-eyed Diva pleaded. "Let me explain--"

"Explain what?" Trish retorted, whirling around so suddenly that Elektra almost collided with her. The Canadian beauty glared at her. "You made me look like an _idiot_ in there! I went out on a limb for you--and you couldn't even stand up for yourself!"

The gray-eyed Diva tried to speak, but words failed her. Trish took a step toward her, her expression still furious. "Tell me something, E," the Women's Champion demanded. "When did you become so afraid of Eric Bischoff? Huh?" She peered into her friend's face. "Was it because he put you in that match three weeks ago?"

Elektra averted her gaze. "No--"

"Then _what_?" Trish exclaimed, throwing up her arms in exasperation.

The silver-eyed Diva looked up, her expression miserable. She spoke slowly, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "I can't..." She hesitated, began again. "I can't..._tell_...you--"

"Of course you can't," Trish cut her off sarcastically. "You can't tell me _anything_! I mean--" The Canadian beauty looked around, clearly at a loss of patience. "I'm only your _best friend_--and you won't even tell me what's going on!"

Elektra swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "I'm sorry--"

"You always say that," the Women's Champion retorted. "You always say that...but you never say _why_." Trish stared hard at her friend, her face a mixture of sympathy and impatience. "Just tell me." she whispered, her tone pleading. "_Please_." The gray-eyed Diva stared back at her wordlessly. Seconds of silence ticked by, and gradually, Trish's expression closed down, becoming cold and angry once again. "You're not going to...are you?"

Elektra drew in a choked breath, the sound of it almost like a sob. "Trish, I--"

"Save it." The Women's Champion's tone was clipped and terse. She eased her title belt up onto her shoulder, turning away from the gray-eyed Diva. "I have to help Mickie get ready for her match--I'll see you later." She strode off before Elektra could stop her.

The silver-eyed Diva watched her friend walk away, her heart breaking within her chest. It was starting--the loss of faith that she'd predicted for so long, the loss of trust that she'd _allowed_ to happen. Trish was already falling victim to it--how long before it spread to the few others left in her life?

How long before it spread to Dave?

Elektra bit her lip, tears trickling down her cheeks. She reached up to wipe them away, and as she did so--she heard a familiar smarmy voice come from directly behind her, accompanied by a hand on her shoulder.

"You played your part well."

Elektra clenched her teeth, refusing to look at the General Manager. Apparently, her humiliation inside the office had not been sufficient; Bischoff wanted to continue it outside as well. With a resoluteness that surprised her, the gray-eyed Diva jerked her shoulder free of his grasp, his touch like a contaminant on her skin. "Don't _touch_ me!" she spat.

If Bischoff was perturbed by her show of disobedience, he didn't show it. Instead, he cooly remarked: "Trouble between you and Trish?" The Raw GM made a tsking sound. "Sad, isn't it? When friendships fall apart?"

Elektra didn't respond, didn't even move. Bischoff's face twisted with annoyance, and he grabbed her arm hard, yanking her around. Grabbing hold of her chin, he forced her to face him. "You will _look_ at me when I'm talking to you, and _speak_ when you're spoken to!" he snarled.

The words burbled up out of the silver-eyed Diva before she could stop them. "Go to hell."

The expression on Bischoff's face was terrifying, and for a second, Elektra was sure that he was going to hit her. But instead, the General Manager's expression gradually relaxed into a sadistic smile. "Careful, Elektra," he warned, his tone taunting. "Remember our little arrangement? Either you be nice to me, do what I say _when_ I say it--or else I have a little conversation with your fiancee--"

Elektra struggled in his grasp, too angry now to be quiet, too angry to be anything other than rebellious. "You leave Dave out this--" she hissed, then fell silent as a new voice entered the fray.

"What's going on over here?"

Bischoff released his hold on Elektra, crossing his arms over his chest as John Cena approached them. The General Manager glared with undisguised loathing at the WWE Champion. "This is none of your business, Cena--"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure that it is," the Champ interjected smoothly, his tone casual. He tilted his head back, eyeing Bischoff from beneath the brim of his baseball cap. "See, when I see the General Manager of Raw--a man who's gone out of his way to make _my_ life a living hell--threatening a Diva..." Cena gently took hold of Elektra's arm, steering her subtly behind him as he spoke. "--a Diva whom I consider to be a _friend_..." The smile disappeared from Cena's face, and he met the General Manager's stare with equal dislike. "...well, then, that _is_ my business."

The WWE Champion moved a little bit closer, lowering his voice as he spoke. "So it's not enough tormenting me, is it?" he remarked, the warmth gone from his voice. "You have to go after my friends, too." Cena slowly removed the customized spinner belt from his shoulder, holding it at his side as he spoke. "If I _ever_ see you put your hands on her again--I'll F-U your ass into a Dumpster."

Elektra's pale irises widened in horror and she frantically grabbed hold of the Champ's arm. "John, don't--"

"Listen, _Cena_," the General Manager interrupted, cutting her off. "I'd be careful if I were you. You're not in a position to be making threats, _especially_ to me." Bischoff tilted his chin up, staring arrogantly at Raw's Champion. "Mick Foley, your Special Guest Referee for your match tonight--he's not looking so hot. He might not even make it to the ring at all. And if _that_ happens--" Bischoff shrugged. "Well, who knows? You could end up with a referee who's less..._favorable_. Or better yet..." The General Manager lowered his voice, his glee and satisfaction evident. "...Kurt Angle could make you tap out."

Cena didn't flinch. "I never tap out."

"Hm..." Bischoff murmured. He leaned close to the Champ, uttering his final words in a tone just above a whisper: "_We'll see_," For a second, his eyes slid over, met Elektra's--and there was no need to voice the implied threat they contained. And then, he was turning away, shoving his hands into his pockets and strolling back toward his office.

Cena stared after him for a second or two, his blue eyes narrowing dangerously. "Fucking piece of shit," he muttered in an uncharacteristic display of profanity. Then, after a moment, his expression went from intimidating to concerned, and he turned back toward the shaken Diva behind him, reaching out to gently grasp her arms. "E, are you okay--"

Elektra shied from his touch, backing away from him. Her beautiful face, when it met his, was _furious_. "Are you _insane_?" the silver-eyed Diva hissed. Cena was so surprised by her sudden show of ire that he had no response. Elektra went on, her words spilling out over one another. "You think I don't have enough problems around here without you dragging me into your shit?"

Cena's face went slack with astonishment and he hesitantly reached out toward her. "E," he began tentatively. "I was only trying to help--"

"Well, _don't_!" Elektra's voice was almost a scream. She backed away another step, staring at him accusingly. "You're just like everyone else--you're 'only trying to help'! The problem is, you never ask what _I _want!"

The gray-eyed Diva looked away, and in an instant, her expression went from furious to miserable. "I just...I just want to be left alone," she whispered, more to herself than to him. Her eyes met his again, and she clenched her hands at her sides, her voice rising to a shriek. "Why can't _any _of you _understand_ that _I just want to be left alone_?" Spinning around on her heel, she stormed away without another word.

For a second, Cena just stood there, unable to do anything except watch her go. Then, before he realized what he was doing, he was moving, throwing his title belt onto the floor, running after the fleeing Diva. "E!"

Elektra didn't stop, didn't even look back. The Champ reached her side, grabbing her arm, turning her around to face him. "Let me go," the silver-eyed Diva cried, tears running down her face. "Let me go--"

That was all she got out before Cena kissed her. For a moment, Elektra struggled, beating her fists against his chests--and then all of a sudden, she relaxed in his embrace, pressing her body against his, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him back--

* * *

Cena blinked, dispelling the daydream. Up ahead of him, Elektra was still striding down the hall, still mad and upset, but the pursuit of her, the kiss--that had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. A fantasy that had chosen to occur at the most inopportune of times.

The Champ leaned back agains the wall, closing his eyes and sighing, the dream still not entirely gone from his system. In his head, he could still feel her body molded against his, could still feel her lips, and how sweet they must taste....

Cena abruptly brought his hand up, smacking himself across the face, guilt surging through him with such intensity that it drowned out everything else. Elektra was suffering, caught under the thumb of Eric Bischoff, clearly in need of a hero. He had tried to be her savior, but he had only succeeded in driving her further away from him, in driving her further within herself. And now, when all she needed was a friend, he hadn't even been able to provide _that_ to her--he had merely stood there, mouth hanging open like an idiot, caught in an adolescent fantasy that would never come true.

A few weeks ago, he had vowed to save Elektra from whatever was tormenting her.

Some savior he was turning out to be.


	12. Chapter 12: Doubtful Uncertainty

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Oh my GOD, the writer's block was TERRIBLE with this one! I felt like I had to literally tear this chapter out of my head and put it on the paper, and the further I got with it, the more I hated it. I still kind of hate it, but I've gotten it to a point where I'm at least okay with it. Anyway, the important thing is that YOU enjoy it, so if you do, then I at least did my job well. Hopefully, you will; PEACE!**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, Kellia Girl, beautifultragedyxxx, Joviper54, Animal Luvr 4 Life, CerebralPrincess, Nastygrl25, Westfan **and **BigRedMachineUK **for reviewing the last chapter! You are all AWESOME and I love yas all very much!

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Chapter 11: Doubtful Uncertainty

Dave leaned back in his chair, staring with disinterest at the flat-screen television silently broadcasting CNN on the far wall. After a moment or two, his gaze swung downward, focusing once again on the seemingly innocuous muffin sitting in front of him. The pastry had looked appetizing when he'd first spotted it on the complimentary breakfast table, but as soon as his hand had closed around it, he could tell that it was hard as a rock.

The World Heavyweight Champion leaned forward, giving the muffin a tentative poke. His finger didn't even dent the surface. Dave sighed, sagging back in his seat again, trying to ignore the impatient growl of hunger emanating from his stomach.

Normally, on a Monday morning, he would be on the road, heading to his final house show before the SmackDown tapings on Tuesday. But today, things were different--per order of Theodore Long, the Animal was headed to the Raw broadcast in Anaheim.

Long had been vague about his reasons behind the directive--but Dave strongly suspected that it had something to do with maintaining a constant SmackDown presence on the Monday night franchise. He knew that the General Manager had never gotten over being embarrassed at Raw's Homecoming four weeks ago, and since then, SmackDown Superstars had been appearing regularly on the opposing brand, usually interfering in scheduled matches with their Raw counterparts.

These repeated disruptions had already resulted in one inter-promotional match; a tag-team bout slated to take place at tomorrow night's Raw pay-per-view, Taboo Tuesday. But the World Heavyweight Champion sensed that was not enough for Long--that he would not be satisfied until he had thoroughly embarrassed Eric Bischoff on his own PPV.

_Keep your ears open..._ Those had been the SmackDown GM's exact words. Dave could still recall the dry chuckle in Long's voice as he added: _Who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky and one of those Raw playas will make a challenge he can't back up..._

_ You know, like how he can beat any Superstar on the SmackDown roster..._

Personally, the Animal wouldn't have cared if Teddy Long had told him to go to Raw to count cars in the parking lot--a trip to Raw meant another opportunity to spend time with his beloved fiancee. And if he got to humiliate Eric Bischoff in the process...well, then, that was just a bonus.

But yet, despite his indifference to the brand feud, Dave couldn't deny that there was a war brewing between the two franchises--one which, as SmackDown's top champion, he was certain to be dragged into eventually. And when that happened, whatever battles that occurred were sure to be long, painful, and messy. Because they would be battling for pride, and if his feud with Triple H had taught him anything, it was that the most dangerous matches were those fought over intangible elements, like pride.

Or hatred.

Or _love_.

"Mind if I sit here?"

The female voice cut across the low hum of his thoughts, startling him back to the present. Surprised, Dave glanced up--his shock quickly giving way to suspicion when he saw Melina standing next to him. The Animal peered hard at MNM's manager for a few long moments before tersely nodding at the chair across from him. "Knock yourself out."

"Thanks," The paparazzi princess slid into the proffered seat, setting her plate down on the tabletop. Dave noticed that it contained a bagel, which looked as though it had been purchased around the same time as his muffin.

As though she had been reading his mind, Melina picked up the bagel, tapping it against the table, producing a hollow rapping sound. A wry smile touched the corners of her mouth as she met the Animal's gaze. "I swear," she remarked. "They must not buy any new ones--they just blow the dust off them each morning."

Her assertion was clearly meant as a joke, but Dave's expression didn't change. Instead, he leaned back a little in his chair, folding his massive arms over his chest. Melina's smile gradually faded, and she ducked her head, dropping the bagel back onto the paper plate, where it connected with an unappetizing CLACK.

Several seconds of awkward silence crawled by, before the Animal cleared his throat, breaking it. "No offense, Melina," Dave began, his tone wary. "But...why are you here?" He paused for a moment. "I mean, you haven't been exactly--"

"--nice?" MNM's manager finished for him, looking back up and locking eyes with him once again. The World Heavyweight Champion didn't reply; merely shrugged a little in agreement. Melina offered a shrug of her own. "I mean, let's not sugar-coat it: I've been a raging bitch."

At this, a hint of a smile touched the corners of Dave's mouth, but otherwise, he said nothing. Melina glanced down at her hands, her fingernails tapping nervously against the tabletop. "I don't blame you for not trusting me--I know that I've never given you a reason to. It's just that..." The paparazzi princess hesitated, looking away. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, uncertain--so unlike the shrieking banshee Dave was accustomed to. "I get so tired of being disrespected, you know?"

Melina looked his way, her dark eyes latching onto his. "I know how to wrestle, all right? I trained for years, worked my way up, paid my dues at OVW--and yet, every week, I have to go out there and put over girls who barely know how to throw a forearm, girls who _lost a contest_, but somehow were good enough to get a WWE contract."

The Dominant Diva shook her head. "In the beginning, I used to be nice--but after I realized that no one cared, I stopped being nice." She gestured at herself. "What you see in the ring, the act I put on--it's just that: an act. But sometimes...it's just easier to live it, you know?" Melina shrugged again. "People may not like me, they may think I'm a bitch--but at least they take me seriously." She fell silent, glancing expectantly at the Animal.

Dave shifted in his seat, cracking his neck back and forth a few times before turning his attention back to MNM's manager. "Why are you telling me this?" the World Heavyweight Champion eventually replied, his tone brusque. "Huh? Why do you suddenly care what I think about you?"

Melina flinched visibly, ducking her head again, her brown-and-blond tresses falling across her face. After a second or two, however, she drew in a deep breath, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. Her expression was almost..._wistful_. "Because I think that you...out of everyone else on the roster...understands what it's like to have no one believe in you." A smile touched the corners of her mouth. "Maybe...in that way...you and I aren't all that different."

Dave froze, a faint bolt of comprehension slamming into him. As wary as he was about the paparazzi princess, he couldn't deny that she was also _right_. In one remark, she had more or less summed up the two years he had spent in Evolution.

Melina averted her eyes once more, picking (unsuccessfully) at the rock-hard bagel on her plate. "I know...that you have a fiancee, and believe me, I'm _not_ trying to move in on you or anything..." She paused, lifting her lids, her dark eyes meeting his. "But...if you ever need..._someone_...to talk to..." Another little shrug. "You can always come to me."

The Animal didn't respond. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, peering at Melina a little closer. Dressed in jeans and a graphic t-shirt, with no makeup on, she looked..._different_, somehow. Not necessarily prettier--but less..._artificial_; less like a Barbie doll, and more like...well...a _woman._

The Dominant Diva glanced at her watch, uttering a little squeal of surprise. "Oh, shit, I have to go! Joey and Johnny are waiting for me!" Hopping up from her chair, she turned to go--then paused for a moment, looking back at him. "But seriously, Dave...if you ever need to talk--you know where to find me."

Fluttering her fingers at him in a wave, she hurried away, leaving the World Heavyweight Champion alone...and more confused than ever.

* * *

Elektra stowed her makeup case back on the top shelf of her cubbyhole, pausing to adjust the jewel-encrusted chain adorning her forehead. This week's Raw broadcast had chanced to fall on Halloween, so she, like the other six women on the roster (Lita, of course, excluded) was preparing for a Diva Costume Contest scheduled to take place later on in the show.

It was nothing, of course; a useless piece of second-hour fodder, even more pointless than the B & P match a few weeks ago. But on the other hand, it was _something_; something more than two hours spent sitting in front of a monitor. This costume contest might have been ridiculous and more than a little degrading, but it was worth it in the end to have a few precious moments under those bright lights, in the middle of that gleaming expanse of white canvas.

The women's locker room looked almost like a scene from a Fellini movie; the costumes ranged from a baseball player (Victoria) to angels (Ashley _and_ Maria) to Trish Stratus (Mickie, naturally). Elektra herself was dressed as a belly dancer, her outfit consisting almost entirely of small silver coins and sheer turquoise fabric, and covering very _very_ little.

As always, the monitor in the corner was turned to the ongoing broadcast, although all of them were only half-listening to what was going on. Jonathan Coachman was in the ring right now, making some grandiose claims about God-knows-what. The gray-eyed Diva wasn't sure--she tended to tune out every time Coach opened his mouth--but it apparently had something to do with the Raw commentator's match against Stone Cold Steve Austin, scheduled to take place the following night on Taboo Tuesday...a bout which, for reasons unknown, the Texas Rattlesnake had backed out of.

In the ring, the new lead commentator for Raw smirked, raising the microphone to his mouth. "If _any _person from the SmackDown roster wants to face the Coach," he announced, pausing briefly for dramatic effect. "I'll be happy to do it, and beat him up, too!"

Elektra rolled her eyes, turning back toward the shelves and reaching for a tube of body lotion. _Stupid man..._she thought to herself. However, in the next instant, her eyes grew wide as the harsh riffs of Saliva's "I Walk Alone" blasted through the speakers.

The silver-eyed Diva whirled around, her mouth dropping open in shock as Dave Batista, _her_ Dave, sauntered out onto the top of the entrance ramp. The Animal was dressed in a suit, a pair of designer shades shielding his eyes, his World Heavyweight Championship displayed prominently on one shoulder.

Elektra moved slowly toward the monitor, almost stumbling over her own feet, trying to force oxygen back into her lungs. The lotion tube slipped from her fingers, falling onto the floor, where it was instantly forgotten. It seemed that the Animal's presence had had a similar effect on the rest of the locker room; the other Divas had ceased their conversing, staring at the screen in stunned silence.

"What is it? What did I miss?" Trish burst out of the shower area, hurriedly tugging her black Wonder Woman wig down over her bright blond locks. She glanced at the monitor and stopped in mid-step, her jaw dropping as well at the sight of Batista.

The Women's Champion looked over at Elektra, blinking hard. "Did you..." She glanced at the screen, and then back at the gray-eyed Diva. "Did you..._know_...that he--"

Elektra was already shaking her head. "I had no idea," she whispered. Her pale irises were fastened on the monitor, her vision already blurring with involuntary tears of elation. "No idea." Just the sight of the man she loved, so confident, so clearly in control and in his element, was enough to fill her with a sensation of love and desire so intense that it threatened to make her pass out.

_I should be there..._the silver-eyed Diva thought to herself. _Not here, watching him on a monitor, but THERE, at his side--because that's where I've ALWAYS been..._

_ That's where I belong..._

Trish glanced from the monitor to Elektra once again, a smile already lighting up her face. "_Well_?" she remarked. The gray-eyed Diva started a little, turning toward the Canadian beauty as though remembering her presence. The Women's Champion nodded her head toward the door. "If he's _there..._what are you still doing _here_?"

In spite of her almost overwhelming emotion, Elektra felt the corners of her mouth curve upward in a grin, and without waiting for any further encouragement, she dashed toward the door, yanking it open and exiting out into the hall.

She had performed at this arena more than once in her WWE career; therefore, she already knew the quickest route to the gorilla area. The shortcut took her down a short stretch of dimly-lit hallway, only a hundred yards or so from the backstage waiting area. Normally, this particular corridor was deserted, used only for storing chairs or equipment crates. However, when the gray-eyed Diva turned down it this time, she noted with some surprise that she was not alone.

And when she realized who it was a second later...it was enough to drain the euphoria from her expression.

Triple H's movements were slow, but infused with that customary arrogance and confidence that turned every step into a swagger. Elektra pressed her body against one of the walls, hoping that he wouldn't notice her, or if he did, that he leave her alone, but both wishes turned out to be futile as the Cerebral Assassin's arm suddenly shot out, blocking her path.

"_Well_," Elektra could hear the cruel amusement dripping from the Game's words, the sound of it sending chills ricocheting down her spine. "What do we have here?" Triple H looked her up and down, the weight of his gaze like a contaminant against her skin. His bearded face twisted into a smirk. "I know it's Halloween, babe--but you didn't have to get all dressed up on _my _account."

The silver-eyed Diva swallowed hard, forcing herself not to look into the Cerebral Assassin's eyes--knowing that if she did so, she would be frozen to the spot, unable to move. "Get away from me, Hunter," she answered, her voice a terse murmur.

She tried to duck under his arm, but the Game merely moved closer to her, crowding her against the wall, making her escape even more of an impossibility. "Why should I, babe?" he remarked insolently. "You and me, _alone_, you dressed like _that_, _clearly_ asking for it--" Triple H shrugged. "Who _would_ pass that up?"

Elektra didn't respond, only tilted her chin up and tried not to flinch as the Cerebral Assassin leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. "_Speaking of which_..." he added. The gray-eyed Diva could hear the sneer in his voice. "How would you feel about giving me a little..._warmup_...before my match with Big Vis tonight?" His hand touched her bare back, the tips of his fingers tracing the curve of her spine down to the waistline of her costume.

Fighting the urge to throw up all over herself, Elektra twisted away from the Game's touch, spinning around and glaring at the former World Champion. "Don't you fucking _touch_ me!" she hissed, wishing she could summon up enough saliva to spit in his face. "You're _disgusting_!"

Triple H stared back at her with mild bemusement. "_I'm _disgusting?" His hazel eyes swept over her body in another long lascivious look, and for a moment, his expression changed, warping slightly, affording a glimpse of the monster lurking beneath the human-like facade. "At least I'm not a _fucking tease_."

Before she could stop herself, Elektra swung her hand up, intending to nail his face with a vicious slap. It turned out to be a mistake--quicker than she could see, the Game grabbed her wrist, preventing the blow from connecting. Snatching hold of her other arm, he shoved her hard against the wall.

Elektra gasped as her skull slammed against the cinderblock, her vision momentarily filling with bright spots of color. It gradually cleared, however, leaving her with the unwanted visual of Triple H's leering face. The Cerebral Assassin cocked his head to the side, eying his former First Lady with detached fascination.

"Are you _insane_?" the silver-eyed Diva managed to squeak out. It was a struggle to do so--all of the air had been driven forcibly from her body. She stared up at the Game, wondering if he had really and truly lost it this time. "_Dave's here_--he'll kill you--"

"Oh, _I don't think so_," Triple H replied, cutting her off. His mouth curled into a savage grin. "Right now...your boyfriend's out in the ring, getting his _ass_ kicked by Jonathan Coachman and his little boy band--I doubt he's going to be killing _anybody_ after _that_. And besides..."

The Game paused, slipping his finger under the shoulder strap of her jeweled bra and lifting it away from her skin. He abruptly released it, and Elektra winced visibly as the strap snapped back into place with a harsh SLAP of elastic. When Triple H spoke again, his raspy growl was a low menacing murmur. "In case you've forgotten...Dave's not part of the Raw roster anymore, so the fact that he's here doesn't mean _shit_." He moved closer to her, and Elektra had to bite back a moan of revulsion when she felt his hardness pressing against her leg.

The Cerebral Assassin continued. "I can do..._whatever I want..._to you, and Dave can't do a _thing_ about it." His voice was softer, so quiet that only she could hear it. "_He can't touch me_."

The gray-eyed Diva began to shake. The terror was creeping back into her; that irrational paralyzing fear that always seemed to accompany her encounters with the former World Champion--as though reminding her that no matter how vehemently she insisted otherwise, she would forever be afraid of Triple H. Dumbly, she stared up into his eyes, bright with madness--icy calculating madness, but insanity nonetheless. "Please..." she pleaded, unable to raise her voice any louder than a cracked whisper. "Don't..."

Triple H didn't seem to hear her; instead, he touched her face, running his index finger along the delicate line of her jaw. Elektra turned her head to the side, squeezing her eyes shut, tears leaking out of the corners of her closed lids. She heard the Game's voice as though from a great distance, barely audible over the thundering throb of her heartbeat. "It's unfortunate, babe--because once I destroy Ric Flair's career tomorrow, there's going to be no one left here on Raw; no one who can _possibly_ protect you from _me_." He made a tsking sound. "Too bad--_for you_."

"Really? 'Cause I think you forgot someone."

The Cerebral Assassin froze for a moment, his sneering countenance evaporating. Without releasing his grip on Elektra, he slowly turned his head, his roughly-hewn features creasing in a glare as he met the unflinching blue gaze of the WWE Champion. Triple H's lip curled in dislike, his tone filled with petulant irritation. "Oh _really_? And who would--"

That was all he got out before Cena punched him.

The force of the blow knocked the Game back, tearing loose his grip on Elektra. He stumbled, falling to one knee, clutching his mouth with both hands. Elektra gasped, her eyes flying open, her silvery irises traveling from Triple H to the imposing figure of her savior.

Cena slowly unclenched his fist, lowering his hand back down to his side. His expression was impassive, his blue eyes blazing with determination and intimidation. "I'm not going to tell you again." His tone was flat, neutral--and yet still rumbled with the implicit threat.

The Cerebral Assassin coughed, spitting bloody saliva onto the cement floor. His gaze shot up, locking with Cena's. His muscular form was trembling with pent-up rage. "You shouldn't have done that," he growled after a long moment. His voice was just as barely contained as the rest of him. Triple H's hazel eyes briefly swung to Elektra, then back to the Champ. "_This..._is none of your business."

The corner of Cena's mouth curved up in a humorless half-smile. "Whatever. I've heard _that_ one before." He moved closer, leaning down over the Game. "So why don't I clear things up for you: as long it involves _her_--" He jabbed his thumb in Elektra's direction. "--it's _my business_."

For a second or two, Triple H said nothing--then gradually, his mouth twisted in a smirk. His eyes fastened on Elektra, already growing bright with comprehension, and the silver-eyed Diva felt something inside her plummet into the abyss. "_Oh..._" the Cerebral Assassin whispered, his tone full of mock surprise. "Oh...I _see_..." He looked back at the WWE Champion. "So I was right after all." Elektra was unsure whether he was addressing Cena or merely thinking aloud--either way, she felt her chest grow tight, as though someone had closed their fist around her lungs.

Slowly, the former World Champion got to his feet, the flecks of blood on his lips the only indication that any sort of altercation had taken place. Without taking his eyes off the Champ, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'd be careful, though, if I were you, Cena," he remarked, the habitual arrogance oozing back into his voice. His gaze shifted to Elektra. "That chick...she's poison." Triple H's sneer widened as he drank in the trembling form of the terrified Diva. "Get too close...and she'll destroy you."

If the Cerebral Assassin had uttered the same comment in the presence of the Animal, it would have earned him a second punch to the face. But Cena met the Game's eyes steadily, the clenched fist at his side the only indication that he had been at all affected by the slur. The WWE Champion tilted his chin up, with not so much as a slight facial tic betraying his true feelings. "I'll see you around, Hunter." There was no need to add anything further--the unspoken warning hovered in the air between them.

Elektra remained pressed against the wall, her pale irises darting from one man to the other. She could almost hear the tension humming between the two Superstars--one wrong move, and the entire situation could denigrate into a flat-out brawl. But instead of lashing out, Triple H merely smirked. "See you around..._Champ_." Turning his back on the two of them, he strolled away.

As soon as the Game's gaze was off her, Elektra felt whatever breath she still possessed leave her in a relieved sigh, and she sagged a little, slumping against the wall for support.

Cena was still watching the Cerebral Assassin's departure; it was only when he saw the gray-eyed Diva falter that he turned in her direction, closing the space between them and reaching out to bolster her up with both hands. The Champ ducked his head down, peering into her eyes with critical concern. "Are you all right, E?" His voice was low, lest Triple H overhear.

Elektra couldn't speak; she was still struggling to pull oxygen into her body. She finally regained enough control over her body to bob her head up and down in a nod.

"Are you _sure_?" Cena insisted. Unintentionally, his fingers dug a little deeper into her forearms. Another nod. The Champ closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. "Dammit, E," he whispered, but there was no admonishment, no accusation in his tone. "When I saw him, with his hands on you, I thought for _sure_--" Cena's voice trailed off, and he looked away, unable to even vocalize the notion.

Elektra stared mutely back at him, still unable to speak. For the second time in as many weeks, the WWE Champion had rescued her from a potentially dangerous situation--or, in the case of Triple H, a dangerous situation, _period_. When he had intervened last week, saving her from Bischoff's petty torments, she had blasted him for his interference. But yet, in spite of that, he had still chosen to once again put himself in harm's way on her behalf--against a Superstar who was infinitely more dangerous that the Raw General Manager would ever be.

The silver-eyed Diva swallowed, coating her throat with enough moisture to allow herself to speak. "John..." she whispered. The Champ's eyes lifted, locked onto hers. Elektra slowly drew in a long shuddering breath. "_Thank you..._"

Cena didn't answer, only offered a small smile, reaching up to touch her face with the backs of his fingers. As he did so, he hesitated, and Elektra thought she saw something flicker in the depths of his blue eyes, something deeper and much more intense than mere friendly affection...

She didn't get any further opportunity to discern what it was, however, as an angry roar blasted through their moment of shared intimacy. The two jerked away from one another, turning toward the source of the commotion.

Elektra's pale eyes widened in horror, the word tearing loose from her in a panicked scream.

"_Dave, no_!"

* * *

The Animal threw Triple H against the wall as hard as he could, wrapping both of his hands around his former mentor's throat. Red had already clamped down over his vision, turning everything around him the hue of blood. But Dave didn't care--he was enjoying himself, reveling in the destruction that only the acute pang of emotion can evoke.

He had had a hell of a night so far: attacked and double-teamed by Goldust and Vader, and then slapped by that punk-ass bitch Jonathan Coachman, all while on national television.

The minor bumps and bruises didn't bother him--the pain was already starting to abate, and come tomorrow night, he would tear the Raw commentator apart in a Street Fight (technically, it was the fans' choice, but the Animal knew from experience that WWE fans always gravitated toward the most barbaric option available).

However, nothing hurts worse than pride, and quite frankly, there was very little more humiliating than getting slapped by a sniveling little weasel like the Coach.

So the World Heavyweight Champion was already in a bad mood when he stormed out of gorilla, turning the corner and almost running smack into Triple H. He wouldn't even have stopped if he hadn't noticed two things: the expression of sadistic delight on the Game's face...and the unmistakable figure of his clearly terrified fiancee huddled against the wall several yards away.

It was only natural, therefore, that he had lost it.

Dave jammed his face into Triple H's, a man he had once trusted and respected; a man who had once laid claim to the World Heavyweight Championship...and to Elektra. "_What did you do to her_?" the Animal snarled, his words barely understandable through the hoarse rasp of emotion in his voice. He tightened his grip, watching as the Cerebral Assassin's bearded face turned pink, then red. "You _fuck_! If you hurt her, I'll fucking _kill you_--"

He heard a low choked sound emanating from the Game's throat, and it took him a few seconds to realize that it was _laughter_. Somehow, Triple H was finding this whole situation _amusing_. His mouth moved, forming words, and Dave grudgingly relaxed his hold a bit, just enough to allow the former World Champion to speak.

"Don't...worry," Triple H's tone was soft, strained, but still infused with smarmy self-assurance. He stared at the Animal, his gaze devoid of fear. "Your..._cunt girlfriend_...is _fine_." He chuckled again. "Someone...already beat you...to the punch..." The Cerebral Assassin grinned, and Dave noticed for the first time that his teeth were bloody, as though he had taken a shot to the mouth.

Normally, the mere utterance of the C-word would have been enough to send the Animal's rage into overdrive, but on this occasion, Dave hesitated. The Game never put himself in harm's way unless he had a damn good reason--so why this sudden use of the derogatory slur, knowing that it would evoke the SmackDown champion's wrath?

Was it just possible that Triple H had finally gone off the deep end?

As though his former mentor could somehow read his thoughts, the Cerebral Assassin added: "See for yourself."

Ordinarily, the Animal knew better than to _ever_ take his focus off the Game. But in spite of himself, Dave glanced over his shoulder, looking in the direction of his fiancee. Elektra was hurrying toward him, her bare feet slapping against the cement, the tiny pieces of metal on her costume pinging softly.

Just behind her...was John Cena.

In the midst of his rage, Dave felt something inside him falter, felt the storm clouds of his wrath momentarily part as the faintest flicker of uncertainty coursed through him. It was nothing; the outline of a notion, the echo of a possibility--but it was there nonetheless. Where there had once been nothing was now the tiniest seed of doubt.

Triple H must have sensed it, because his former mentor let out another low choked chuckle. "See, that's the bitch about being champion--_there's always someone trying to take your spot." _The Game lowered his voice, dropping it down to a conspiratorial whisper. "If I were you, Dave, I'd start keeping a closer eye on my _woman_--before history starts repeating itself."

It was entirely the wrong thing to say; Dave's head snapped back, his dark eyes narrowing as they faced the smug countenance of the the Cerebral Assassin. With a low roar, he began to squeeze, watching as the hue of Triple H's tanned skin went from red to purple.

He probably would have broken the Game's neck if someone hadn't grabbed him, yanking his arms away from the other man's throat, forcing him back toward the adjacent wall. Batista snarled wordlessly, struggling to free him. With effort, he twisted his head around, trying to see who had prevented him from giving Triple his due punishment. His thrashing slowed, and then stopped as he met the impassive stare of the WWE Champion.

The Animal wrenched himself free, backing away from Cena. He looked back toward the Game, but Triple H had already fled, having used the few precious seconds of distraction to make his escape. The World Heavyweight Champion shot a fierce glare at his Raw counterpart. "What the hell?" he growled. "Why'd you stop me?"

Cena met his gaze with absolutely no intimidation. "Because if I had let you snap that asshole's neck, Bischoff would have had you arrested." he shot back. The WWE Champion glanced away for a second, his jaw clenching. "If I were running things, I would have let you remove that son-of-a-bitch's appendix the _hard_ way--but I'm _not_, and I _figured_ both you _and_ E would appreciate it if you didn't spend the night in police custody."

Dave opened his mouth to retort, but found he had nothing to say. He snapped it closed, settling for scowling at the Champ. His hand twitched, closing into a fist, and for the briefest of seconds, he contemplated smashing it into Cena's movie-star handsome face...

"Dave," The Animal felt Elektra's hand close over his, her fingers caressing his knuckles. At her touch, Dave relaxed, his hand opening once again. Looking away from the WWE Champion, he turned toward the silver-eyed Diva, his fury draining away at the sight of her pale, beseeching face.

Without speaking, the Animal pulled her to him, wrapping his massive arms around her slender body. After a second or two, he felt her tentatively return the embrace, her arms slipping around him, her hands pressing against his back. She pressed her face against his chest, her breath coming out in soft gasps.

They stood together like that for a long time, saying nothing, only holding one another. After about a minute, Dave felt a sense of peace fall over him. He didn't need to ask if Elektra was all right--he could feel it in the way she leaned against him, in the way her body seemed to relax, the tension draining from her.

He pulled back, reaching up to cup her face tenderly in his hands. Leaning down, he sealed her lips in a gentle kiss. As he pulled back, he heard a soft sigh of need escape from her.

Elektra looked up at him, her pale eyes sparkling brighter than the jewels adorning her costume. "After my segment..." she whispered. "...could you take me back to the hotel?"

Dave nodded. "Absolutely, baby." His mouth curled in a wry half-smile. "No offense to either of you--but I've had about all I can stand of Raw for tonight."

Elektra's lips twitched in amusement. "I know what you mean," she replied.

The World Heavyweight Champion slid his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him once again. "C'mon, I'll take you to gorilla." He turned to go, then stopped as Cena stepped forward, holding up both of his hands.

"How about I take her?" the Champ suggested. At this, the Animal frowned, but waited for him to elaborate. Cena went on. "Here's why--if H goes to Bischoff...and he probably will...then Bischoff's probably going to be on the warpath. And if _that _happens...then it's best if you lay low for a bit."

Dave opened his mouth to reply that he didn't give a damn what Eric Bischoff thought of him when Elektra surprised him by speaking first. "He's right, Dave." The World Heavyweight Champion looked down at her in surprise. The gray-eyed Diva glanced from one man to the other. "He'll throw you out, if not put you in jail--and I don't want either to happen to you. Not because of me." Because Dave could respond that it wasn't _her_ fault, that all the blame lay at the feet of the Cerebral Assassin, his fiancee tiptoed up, kissing him quickly on the lips. "I'll meet you in the parking lot after I'm done."

"Don't worry," Dave looked over at his Raw counterpart. The WWE Champion grinned, placing his hand on Elektra's shoulder. Dave stared at it for a few seconds; only with effort was he able to bring his focus back up to Cena's face. "I'll take good care of her."

_Yeah, I'll bet..._the Animal thought sourly, then wondered where that remark had come from. Instead, he tersely replied: "You better," before turning his attention back to Elektra. As soon as he did, his expression softened, warmth creeping back into his voice. "Love you, baby."

"Love you, too," the silver-eyed Diva murmured, and after another lingering look of longing, she reluctantly turned away, moving in the direction of the backstage area. Cena walked beside her, slowing his gait to her pace.

Dave watched them go, unable to banish the image of Cena's hand on Elektra's shoulder. There had been nothing improper about it, nothing even remotely flirtatious--so then what was this pain in the pit of his stomach? What was this sensation of nausea that he felt just seeing the WWE Champion with his fiancee? Where had it come from--and why?

This feeling...it was almost like jealousy. But that was ridiculous. Elektra and Cena were friends; that was all. The Champ knew where the boundaries between friendship and flirtation lay, and had always respected them. And if there was anyone that Elektra was safest with beside himself, it was with the WWE Champion.

Besides, Elektra wasn't marrying Cena--she was marrying _him_. So then...what was there to be jealous about?

_That's the bitch about being champion--there's always someone trying to take your spot..._

Dave's head shot up as Triple H's words echoed in his mind. "That's insane," he muttered to himself. "John's a good guy; he would _never_--"

_If I were you, Dave, I'd start keeping a closer eye on my woman--before history starts repeating itself..._

The Animal pressed his hands to his ears, but try as he might, he couldn't keep the Game's voice out of his head--any more than he could prevent the first seeds of doubt from taking root in his mind.


	13. Chapter 13: Declaration of War

**A/N: OMG, NEW CHAPTER! How long has it been? Forever? I think forever is somewhat accurate. I'm not going to bore you with excuses, except to say that it was three-fourths writer's block, one-fourth horrendous schedule. Also, this was one of those chapters that took me to a dark place, one I didn't much care to be, and it gave me kind of a migraine. But I powered through it, because I want to tell this story--and because you all are awesome. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Peace!**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, Kellia Girl, Anonymous, joviper54, beautifultragedyxxx, Nastygrl25, **and **Westfan** for reviewing the last chapter! Love yas!

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Chapter 12: Declaration of War

_**June 27, 2005 - One Day After Vengeance**_

_ Todd Grisham cleared his throat, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses further up onto his nose. "Ladies and gentlemen," the Raw backstage reporter began. "My guest at this time...is the World Heavyweight Champion...Batista!" Grisham turned, holding his microphone out toward the massive figure standing beside him. "Dave, you went through one hellacious match last night, but I have to ask--how are you feeling?"_

_ The Animal chuckled, his rough-hewn features betraying only the faintest flash of pain. "How do you think I'm feeling, Todd?" he replied, his tone holding none of the sarcasm that would be expected from such a ridiculous question. "I've got holes in my back, holes in my head--" Batista paused, reaching up, his fingers unconsciously grazing the large bandage covering his forehead. "I feel like I've been through a war."_

_ The World Heavyweight Champion's amused countenance sobered, and he glanced down, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. "Last night...Triple H and I...we went to war, plain and simple." Batista looked up, meeting Grisham's eyes through the dark lenses of his designer sunglasses. His expression was solemn, almost thoughtful. "Hunter...the cell...they took something from me--something that I'll never get back." Having voiced this, the Animal fell silent once again, seemingly lost in his own thoughts._

_ "Was it worth it?" Grisham's tentative query broke through the quiet. _

_ Batista didn't answer at first; merely looked off to the side. To the casual observer, it seemed like he was gazing at the enormous gold and leather belt draped over his right shoulder--only Grisham could tell that the Animal's focus wasn't on his hard-fought championship...but on the gray-eyed Diva standing just a few feet away out of camera range. "You bet your ass it was worth it," Batista murmured, his face lighting up in a warm smile--a smile that was echoed on the beautiful features of his fiancee._

_ Grisham started to ask another question, thought better of it, and instead backed away, clearing his throat. The Animal and Elektra remained where they were, gazing lovingly at one another; it was only after the cameraman called: "Cut!" that the World Heavyweight Champion moved, closing the distance between them and reaching out with his free arm to encircle her slender waist and pull her to him. _

_ The silver-eyed Diva leaned into him, pressing both hands against his broad chest. "Was it really?" she whispered. Her smile faltered, and Batista could tell by the expression on her face what kinds of images were flitting through her mind--the ugly gash underneath the bandage, the scratches and punctures on his back from the barbed wire. "I mean, Hunter put you through hell--"_

_ The Animal quickly placed his fingers over her lips, silencing her. His voice, when he eventually spoke, was just as quiet. "Baby--if what I did to him means that he'll never touch you again--" Batista paused for a second, sliding his fingertips over the planes of her face, cupping her cheek in his hand. "--then I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat."_

_ Elektra drew in her breath sharply at this assertion, and her pale irises gleamed just a little bit brighter as tears filled her eyes. His hand still resting on her face, the World Heavyweight Champion leaned in to kiss her. His mouth was right above hers, so close that she could feel his warm breath caressing her lips...when a new voice cut through the aura of intimacy surrounding them, its all-too-familiar tone filled with strident superiority:_

_ "Excuse me!"_

_ The Animal and the gray-eyed Diva reluctantly pulled back from one another, both of them tensing slightly at the sight of Raw's General Manager. Bischoff's scrutinizing gaze swung from one to the other, his expression betraying only the faintest hint of distaste. "When the two of you are finished engaging in your little public displays of affection, there's something I need to discuss with YOU--" This last word was directed at Batista. _

_ The Raw GM paused for a moment, his focus snapping back to Elektra, the corners of his mouth curving up in a small derisive smile. "--ALONE," he finished, laying deliberate emphasis on the final two syllables. _

_ Elektra often marveled at how much her fiancee had evolved (no pun intended) as a Superstar; right now was no exception. A year ago, Batista would have almost assuredly lost his temper--and possibly even broken Bischoff's arm--at such a blatant show of disrespect. Now, however, the Animal merely touched the bridge of his sunglasses, straightening up until he fairly towered over the considerably shorter Raw GM. "Whatever you have to say to me, Eric, you can say to her," the World Heavyweight Champion replied, a slight stiffness to his tone the only hint of his true feelings. "You know that."_

_ For an instant, Bischoff looked as though he'd like to challenge the Animal's defiant remark, but instead, pressed his lips together in a thin line and nodded curtly. "As you wish. If you don't mind--" This directive was aimed at Grisham and the cameraman, both of whom were watching the unspoken power struggle with undisguised interest. The backstage reporter sighed, bowing his head and meekly exiting the interview area. The cameraman rolled his eyes, but nevertheless followed suit. _

_ Elektra felt Batista take her hand in his, his fingers interlocking through hers. He squeezed it, and she returned the grip with equal ferocity. There was something in Bischoff's face, his voice, that unnerved her; something that was causing her insides to prickle with dread. In addition, her bad leg had inexplicably started throbbing painfully, as though the damaged ligaments and sinews could sense the rising emotional tension in the atmosphere as surely as they could detect the slightest change in barometric pressure. _

_ The Raw General Manager turned his attention back to the pair, the smirk still hovering at the edges of his mouth. "Now that I have your full attention...I came here to tell you that--" Bischoff paused, clearing his throat; more for dramatic effect than anything else. "--effective immediately...you are no longer a member of the Raw roster."_

_ Both Batista and Elektra went completely, absolutely still. The Animal's rough-hewn features went slack with shock, and his whole body sagged, seemingly losing some of its imposing mass. The World Heavyweight Championship slid off his shoulder, but Batista made no move to catch it; it hit the floor with a metallic THWAP. _

_ Slowly, with fingers that were visibly trembling, the Animal reached up, removing his sunglasses, crushing them in his fist. He stared at the Raw GM, his dark brown eyes almost black with disbelief and anger. "Is this some kind of a joke, Eric?" the World Heavyweight Champion managed to say, almost stammering out the words. _

_ Bischoff's sneer widened just a touch. "Oh, it's no joke; I assure you." He licked his lips, as though he was savoring every declaration. "You're being traded to SmackDown, Dave--and this time, you won't be able to take your girlfriend with you--"_

_ "FIANCEE," Batista corrected through gritted teeth, but the General Manager was past listening; he was too caught up in his own ego trip._

_ "--but don't worry," Bischoff paused again, his gaze once more drifting over to Elektra. The moment his eyes landed on her, the silver-eyed Diva felt a chill skitter over her skin. "Maybe she'll luck out in the supplemental draft." His words were casual, but there was no mistaking the malicious satisfaction that crept into his voice._

_ The Raw GM looked back at the now-speechless Animal, his tentative smirk blossoming into a full-blown sneer. "Now...since you're officially no longer part of Raw's roster, and since that little interview you just did comprises your only appearance on tonight's broadcast--I'd like for you to get the hell out of my arena."_

_ Silence followed his statement. Bischoff casually buffed his nails against his lapel, his focus flicking down to them for a moment before snapping back up to Batista. "And Dave...that's not a request--it's an ORDER."_

_ The World Heavyweight Champion's lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl. He lunged forward, ready to wrap both of his hands around his former boss's neck--when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elektra stagger unsteadily to the side, felt her fingers clamp onto his arm with a death grip. _

_ Batista turned toward his fiancee, his heart immediately lurching to a halt. Elektra's skin was ashen, as though all of the color had been leached from her flesh, and pulled tight against the bones of her face, throwing all of her features into harsh relief. She was trembling--there was no one part of her body that wasn't shaking--and she was swaying back and forth as though in a stupor, as though her equilibrium had been stolen from her as well._

_ In that single moment, the Animal felt his wrath drain away into insignificance, giving way to overwhelming concern. "Baby?" he whispered. Gently taking hold of her arms, he turned her toward him. Elektra's pale irises were glazed and unfocused, staring off toward an unseen point in space. Her full lips moved slightly, as though she was murmuring words that only she could hear._

_ The World Heavyweight Champion felt his heart wrench painfully within his chest. Swallowing hard, he reached up, tenderly cupping her face in both of his hands. "Baby, please," the Animal pleaded softly, trying to speak past the huge lump of emotion that had lodged itself in his throat. "Look at me."_

_ Even as he said it, however, part of him didn't want her to. Right now, Elektra was in shock, unable to comprehend what she had just heard, and the moment she returned to reality, the moment she focused--REALLY FOCUSED--on him...that would be the moment that comprehension would dawn on her. _

_ And once it did...it would break her._

_ As these thoughts flitted across the Animal's mind, Elektra's silvery eyes shifted, locking on his. "Dave?" she murmured, her voice slightly slurred. Batista could only stare back at her wordlessly, praying that the inevitable would not occur--_

_ But then he saw it, that terrible understanding, take hold of her; saw her pupils shrink to tiny specks, saw her slender frame stiffen. _

_ "Dave..." Elektra's voice was soft, but there was no masking the sorrow lurking at the edges of it. Her jaw was trembling, her gray eyes scanning his face as though searching for some indiscernible truth. "Tell me...that it's not true..."_

_ Batista couldn't speak; words had literally failed him. The silver-eyed Diva slowly shook her head, tears already pooling in her eyes. "No..." The Animal gulped, still unable to talk, his mind filling with the hum of unspoken prayers. He would do anything--give up his title, grovel before Triple H, crawl naked through broken glass--ANYTHING that would make this moment not happen._

_ Anything would have been preferable...to breaking her heart._

_ "E--" the World Heavyweight Champion managed to say, but his fiancee was already pulling away, her hands coming up to cover her ears--as though by blocking out sound, she could also block out the truth. "No..." Elektra whispered. "No...no....NO!" Her voice grew louder and shriller with each negation, until she was screaming, wordless cries of pain that echoed off the walls. Tears streamed down her face, staining her cheeks with tiny black rivers of eye makeup._

_ Tears stung Batista's eyes, and he took a hesitant step toward her, trying to pull her back into his arms, as though the warmth of his embrace could somehow burn away her anguish. "Baby, please--" he pleaded, but the gray-eyed Diva twisted away from him, her shrieks dying down into hysterical sobs. The look she shot him was both utterly miserable--and accusing._

_ Before he could stop her, Elektra turned and ran out of the interview area, her long legs a blur of motion, her limp barely a factor for once. Batista had never seen her run that fast in the entirety of her career._

_ It was as though...by doing so...she was trying to outrun inevitability. _

"Baby? You asleep?"

Elektra's eyes drifted open, Dave's soft murmur jarring her from her memories and returning her to the present. Soft golden light greeted her, casting faint illumination over the hotel room's furniture. Over in the corner, the television was silently broadcasting Cartoon Network, the current program involving what looked like an animated milkshake and a box of fries engaged in a heated debate. The pillow against her cheek smelled clean and comforting--but even more comforting was the warm, solid presence of the Animal at her back, his massive arm draped protectively over her waist.

However, despite the hotel room's pleasant ambience, the gray-eyed Diva felt no relief, no peace. Even though four months had elapsed since that night, the present was still no better than the past--if anything, it was worse.

The initial sting might have faded, but the ache lingered on; a deep painful wound in her heart that refused to heal. And as long as things continued as they were, it never _would_ heal--the most she could do was try and prevent it from being ripped open past all repair.

Elektra closed her eyes, pressing her face into the pillow. "No," she admitted after a long moment had gone by. "Just...just thinking about--" The silver-eyed Diva hesitated for a moment, before mentally forcing herself to continue. "--what happened the last time Raw was in Anaheim."

Dave didn't say anything, but Elektra felt his grip on her waist tighten, and knew that he was replaying every nuance of that conversation, just as she had a moment ago. Amazing how the clarity of that event hadn't faded--she could still hear Bischoff's smug voice, his words hanging in the air above them like the world's most unwelcome intruder:

_You're being traded to SmackDown, Dave..._

Elektra took a deep breath; a long shuddering breath that made her lungs ache. "When we first showed up there that night...everything was so _perfect_. How--" Tears filled her eyes, and she bit her lip until the taste of blood filled her mouth, but it was too late; too late to prevent them from spilling down her cheeks. "--how did it all go so _wrong_?"

Dave quickly pulled her closer to him, his lips brushing her cheek, her jaw, her ear. "Baby, please--" the Animal begged, his tone sorrowful. "Please don't cry--"

"I can't help it!" the gray-eyed Diva sobbed. Rolling over onto her opposite hip, she clung to her fiancee, pressing her face against his broad chest. "I'm sick of this! You'd think...after four months...that I'd get used to you being gone--but I'm not! No matter what I do, _it never gets any easier_, and I hate it, I hate it _so much_--"

"And how do you think I feel?" the World Heavyweight Champion interjected roughly, his voice hoarse with emotion. He slid his hands up to her head, burying his fingers in her dark hair. "I wake up so many nights, hoping that somehow, you'll be there next to me...but all I find is the empty side of the bed--"

Dave stopped, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. When he spoke again, it was with obvious effort. "We love each other--why should it matter what brand we're on? I mean--" The Animal propped himself up on one elbow as he continued. "When did stupid shit like brands start defining us, anyway? It's just like this so-called 'war'; it's all _bullshit--_"

"That's exactly why we get caught in the middle of it," Elektra interrupted. Her sobs had subsided, and her voice was dull, almost lifeless. "Because we _know_ it's all bullshit...and we just don't care." She slowly shifted her head, looking up at her fiancee. "But it's more than just you being on SmackDown and me being on Raw."

The silver-eyed Diva hesitated for a second. "I feel...like..." Another lengthy pause. "...one day, I'll wake up...and you'll be gone. Only this time--" Her pale irises glinted with fresh tears. "--you won't be coming back."

Dave didn't speak, only reacted; pulling her to him, covering her tear-stained face with kisses before kissing her hard on the mouth. "Listen to me," the Animal ordered after he pulled back, his voice both harsh and incredulous. "I'll _always_ come back. Understand?" He stared hard at the gray-eyed Diva next to him. "Eric and Teddy can tear each other apart for all I care--but no matter what happens, I'll never leave you. I _promise_."

The World Heavyweight Champion hesitated for an instant. Reaching down, he took hold of her hands, pulling them up and holding them between both of his. His thumbs caressed the soft skin of her inner wrists, and Elektra knew that he was tracing the line of the scars. When Dave spoke again, his deep voice was barely audible. "I just...I need to know, baby--" He blinked rapidly, as though trying to hold back tears of his own. His thumb pressed insistently against the thick scar tissue. "--that you're gonna do the same for me."

Elektra's lips trembled, and she nearly broke down crying yet again. But after a second or two, the silver-eyed Diva regained enough to bob her head up and down in an emphatic nod. "I won't leave," she whispered, her voice tight with barely contained emotion. "I promise."

Her fingers slipped through his, gripping his hand tightly. "Never again." And with those two small words, Dave knew that was all the explanation he was ever going to get for what had happened on that night in July.

The Animal rolled over onto his back, pulling Elektra with him, letting out his breath in an exhausted sigh. The gray-eyed Diva laid her head on his chest, draping her arm over his body. Silently, the two of them stared at the television. An animated meatball had now joined the fray, transforming his round shape into an igloo, then a hotdog.

In spite of himself, the World Heavyweight Champion chuckled. "E, what the _hell_ are we watching?"

Elektra giggled, and Dave felt something inside him unclench as he felt the tension draining from her slender frame. "No idea," the silver-eyed Diva replied. "Though you have to admit--it's not any weirder than what you and I see during any given week."

The Animal laughed again. "True that, baby." Gazing fondly at his fiancee, he bent his head down, placing a kiss on the top of her head. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Elektra murmured softly, her eyes closing once again as she drifted off to sleep.

For once, the darkness did not haunt her dreams.

* * *

Elektra stormed down the corridor, her high-heeled slippers beating out a furious tattoo on the concrete, her delicate features set in an expression of impatient annoyance. Down at her side, her slim fingers flexed, curling into a fist, hard enough that her nails dug into her palm.

When the gray-eyed Diva had learned a few days prior that she had been added to the Diva Battle Royale at Taboo Tuesday, she had harbored no delusions about her inclusion in said match. Elektra knew that she was little more than a substitute, a replacement for Torrie Wilson, who had taken a leave of absence to deal with some family business.

Still, even that sobering realization about her ranking in the Diva hierarchy wasn't enough to prevent a lightning bolt of elation from surging through her body. After more than a year, she was finally getting another opportunity to wrestle for the Women's Championship...at the very same pay-per-view where she had lost the title.

Elektra had never cashed in her rematch clause after losing the belt last October--Trish had started a program with Lita soon after, and by the time it had concluded, the silver-eyed Diva had been out of action with a broken leg. This match--as ridiculous and gimmicky as it would no doubt be--was her first shot at the title in more than twelve months; not even the notion of wrestling in lingerie was enough to deter Elektra from experiencing a brief flash of hope that maybe...just _maybe_...karma would swing in her favor this time around.

But in the next instant, that flicker of optimism had vanished, as the gray-eyed Diva remembered just what kind of a world she worked in. Raw was still Eric Bischoff's domain; a realm where he could truly play God. In the last month, he had seemingly made it his personal mission to make her existence a living hell--this concession, no matter how small and insignificant it might appear, would no doubt come with strings attached.

Strings that the Raw General Manager would choose to yank when he deemed it most favorable to _him_--after all, if Bischoff excelled at _anything_, it was selecting the most perfectly opportune time to abuse his power.

So Elektra had waited warily--had _been_ waiting for the past four days--for the other shoe to drop...and sure enough, more than an hour into Taboo Tuesday, she had heard the sound of it hitting the floor.

The summons had come when she was in gorilla, wishing Dave good luck for his match against Coachman. The World Heavyweight Champion had glared a hole in the hapless production assistant designated as messenger, but any protests he might have voiced were drowned out by the blaring rock riffs of his entrance theme.

As the silver-eyed Diva watched her fiancee storm angrily toward the black entrance curtain, she knew with a cold certainty that the timing had been no accident--Bischoff _wanted_ her to miss Dave's match.

It shouldn't have bothered her; if anything, she should have just chalked it up as simply another example of the Raw General Manager's total absence of humanity. But for some reason, this one little thing...filled Elektra with more rage than she had experienced in the past few months; a fury which only grew as she neared Bischoff's office.

Before, the very idea of setting foot in the General Manager's office would have filled her with a sick, icy terror; a numbing, paralyzing feeling that stole all sensation from her body. But now...she felt no fear...and somehow, that scared her more than the fear itself. All she knew, all she was really aware of with any certainty, was that _she was sick of this, she was so goddamn sick of this--_

The door to Bischoff's office loomed in front of her, and without even bothering to knock, the gray-eyed Diva twisted the handle down, throwing it open and storming into the spacious interior. Words bubbled out of her, too swiftly for her to even consider checking them. "What? What is it this time? Are you going to pull me out of the match _now_, or wait until I get out to the ring..."

Elektra's voice died away into confused silence when she saw the empty desk and chair in front of her. Simultaneously, her ears picked up the sound of the door swinging shut...followed by the lock clicking into place.

In that instant, the silver-eyed Diva felt her newfound wrath drain away, replaced by the all-too-familiar chilling sensation of dread. For a moment, the benign beige walls flickered, morphing briefly into a high school locker room--

_--blue tiles, splattered with red blood--_

_ --_but in the next, they had returned to normal. Elektra swallowed hard, trying to tamp down her fear. Alarm bells were going off in her head, almost deafening her, and she could feel her pulse throbbing at her temples. She pressed her lips together, trying her very hardest not to scream...

"Feisty tonight, aren't we?"

This time, the gray-eyed Diva _did_ scream, although the sound came out as little more than a strangled croak. She whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat at the sight of Raw General's Manager leaning against the closed door--the only means of exit--his arms crossed over his chest. Bischoff tilted his head to the side, regarding Elektra with a kind of bemused fascination.

The silver-eyed Diva gulped involuntarily. "Could we get this over with?" she whispered, praying that her voice sounded more confident that it did in her own ears. "Dave's match--"

"I'm well aware of your..._fiancee's_...match," the Raw GM interrupted smoothly. "However, that doesn't change the fact that you and I have..._business_...to discuss." Pushing himself to an upright position, he strolled toward her. "Business which, unfortunately, can't wait."

Elektra lifted her chin a touch, trying not to whimper as she met Bischoff's emotionless gaze. "What is it, then?" she replied, putting as much defiance in her tone as she dared.

The General Manager made a tsking noise, waggling his finger in front of her the way that a parent scolds a naughty child. "Patience, please." Bischoff admonished. "First--"

He took a step closer, and Elektra could have sworn that she felt his aura crawling over her skin, an oily moist presence that made her gag. Bischoff reached out, bridging the distance between them, taking hold of the slender belt holding her short black silk robe closed. With one brisk motion, he tugged the loose knot free, and the robe fell open, revealing her lingerie for the Diva Battle Royale. "--why don't I make you more..._comfortable_?" the Raw GM finished.

Elektra glanced down at her exposed body, then back up at her boss, her pale irises widening in horror. Where there had previously been nothing in the General Manager's gaze, there was now _something_--something she would have rather cut off her tongue than admit verbally.

The gray-eyed Diva choked back a sob, looking up at the ceiling, but it was no use--she could still feel Bischoff's eyes on her. "_Very nice_," the Raw GM remarked, his unctuous tone sickening her to the core. "Did Dave pick these out--or am I the first one to see this particular..._ensemble_? If so..." Bischoff chuckled low in his throat. "I'm _flattered_."

Elektra tore her gaze from the ceiling, focusing on the walls, the floor--anything but the General Manager as he made a slow half-circle around her, still talking as he did so. "Now--on to business." His hand touched her shoulder, his fingertips grazing her skin. "I've been noticing a...change...in you over the past few weeks; an attitude which I quite frankly don't care for."

Bischoff's fingers plucked at the edges of the robe, pulling it off her shoulders. Bile climbed up Elektra's throat, and it was only with profound effort that she was able to force it back down. The Raw GM continued. "You and I have an agreement--but lately, you've been showing a certain lack of _dedication_ to our arrangement." Bischoff made a derisive noise in the back of his throat. "I don't know if it's this new defiant personality of yours, or the fact that you insist on associating with characters like _John Cena_--either way, I want some proof--proof that you're still willing to uphold your end of the bargain."

Elektra tried to move, but couldn't--her limbs had turned to stone. She could only stand there helplessly as the flimsy robe drifted down her arms and off her body, pooling on the floor with a soft whisper of silk brushing skin. Bischoff's hand touched her lower back, slowly sliding around to rest against her bare abdomen, his fingers lightly caressing her flesh. His voice was in her ear, so close that she could feel his breath on her neck. "Think of this as your price of admission--the fee you're paying for your match tonight."

The silver-eyed Diva's body shook with repressed sobs, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. This was a dream; it _had _to be--any moment, this office and its evil occupant were going to melt away, and she would wake up in Dave's arms. This had to be a nightmare, this _couldn't possibly_ be real--

Why would Fate be so cruel as to let this happen yet again?

The General Manager went on, either obvious to her terror...or else completely turned on by it. From the way he was..._pressing_...against her, Elektra was almost certain it was the latter. "Think of this as _quid pro quo--"_

As soon as those three words fell on her ears, the gray-eyed Diva stiffened. Her eyes, wide and bright with tears, narrowed to small slits. Slowly, she glanced at the floor, noting the position of Bischoff's feet. Tilting her head back up, she subtly shifted her weight to one foot, and without warning, kicked back with the other as hard as she could.

The moment she hear the agonized "Ooof!", she knew that she had hit home. Elektra swung around, rotating on one heel, staring without pity as Raw's General Manager bent over, clutching his wounded groin with both hands. Bischoff looked up sharply, his eyes blazing with pain and hate--and then stumbled backwards as Elektra's right hook clipped him in the jaw. The GM fell back against his desk, knocking script pages and a water bottle onto the floor.

The gray-eyed Diva flexed her fingers, working out any residual discomfort. "What's wrong, _Eric_?" she challenged, her tone expressionless. "Didn't think helpless girls like me knew how to throw a punch?" Kneeling down, she snatched her robe off the floor.

"You stupid little _bitch_!" In the presence of excruciating pain, Bischoff's eloquence had apparently deserted him. The General Manager massaged his jaw--though, by the way he was shifting awkwardly, it was out of vanity rather than necessity. "You really have lost your mind. Just for this, I think that your fiancee and I need to have a conversation--"

"So you can tell him everything?" Elektra shot back fiercely. She stormed toward the Raw GM, grabbing hold of his tie and yanking him forward, jamming her face into his. Her voice dropped to a furious murmur. "So you can tell him that I _slept_ with you so you'd trade me to SmackDown?" The silver-eyed Diva let out a bitter laugh, a manic smile touching her lips. "Go ahead, then. Do it--and I'll tell the McMahons that you _raped_ me!"

"I _never_--" Bischoff started to protest, then stopped, as he struggled to collect his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was terse and barely controlled. "I never..._forced_...you to do _anything_."

"No, you didn't," Elektra replied flatly. Her lips drew back from her teeth. "You just threatened me until I had no other choice, went back on your word, and then _blackmailed_ me when I threatened to tell." The General Manager snapped his mouth shut, silenced by this unshakable logic, settling for glaring at her.

Elektra looped his tie once around her hand, giving it another hard yank, and feeling a low thrill course through her as the Raw GM yelped and choked. "Now, _you_ listen to _me,_" the gray-eyed Diva ordered. She leaned in, her voice growing even softer. "I've played your little sadistic games. I've kept my head down and my mouth shut, except to say 'Yes, sir,' and 'No, sir'; I've let my friends think that I'm _crazy_--but _no more_! _This_ is where I draw the line!"

She tugged harder, Bischoff's gasps for air like music to her ears. "If you ever, _ever_, touch me again, you sadistic sack of shit--then I go to the McMahons. Understand?"

Bischoff's voice was a strangled whisper; she was surprised that he could even speak. "You...wouldn't...dare."

Elektra met her boss's gaze without flinching. "Eric, look me in the eyes...and then tell me again that I wouldn't dare." She abruptly released her hold on the GM's tie and turned away, moving toward the door.

She had just grasped the knob when Bischoff's voice floated up behind her, his tone both icy and full of loathing: "If you walk out that door, Elektra, it is _war_ between us. Do you understand? And _believe me_, you do _not_ want to go to war with me." The General Manager laughed, but there was nothing amusing about the sound. "Vince McMahon; he barely survived against me--what makes you think that you even have a _prayer_?"

Elektra stared straight ahead, waiting a second or two before replying. "Because we're already at war." She looked back over her shoulder, meeting her boss's gaze with an animosity equal to his. "You declared war on me the day you traded my fiancee to SmackDown."

Tearing her eyes away from Bischoff's, she pulled the door open, exiting out into the hall.

The Raw General Manager stood there, surrounded by scattered papers and spilled water, his eyes glued to the closing door. It was only after it clicked shut that he offered one final statement:

"_So be it_."

* * *

Elektra leaned against the wall, struggling to catch her breath. The icy control that had taken hold of her in Bischoff's office was already starting to dissipate--leaving her with the sick realization of what she had done...and the overwhelming worry of wondering if she'd just annihilated everything she had left.

The gray-eyed Diva swiped her hand across her forehead, wiping away the perspiration beading on her brow. She didn't have time to think about this. Right now, she needed to find Dave, and then get ready for her match--provided, of course, that Bischoff didn't run out and throw her out of the ring himself.

Elektra reluctantly pushed herself off the cinderblock surface. Her robe lay forgotten over one arm; she shook it out and slipped her arms through the sleeves, pulling it back onto her shoulders as she headed back toward the gorilla position.

Several yards away, a figure stepped out of the shadows, the hard fluorescent light gleaming on her vibrant red hair. Lita cocked her head to the side, her brown eyes traveling from the diminishing figure of Elektra to the closed door of the General Manager's office only a few feet away.

The Rated R Diva smiled.


	14. Chapter 14: Unholy Alliance

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! OMG! Writer's block was solely the cause of this delay; I had about fourteen things that I wanted to have happen in this chapter, and it took FOREVER paring it down to what was pertinent. Also, writing this chapter was like pulling teeth. I'm not even kidding; it was word blockage from beginning to end. If there are any errors, I apologize-I wrote this until the early hours of the morning, knowing that I was going to pay for it at work the next day, and besides, I am the Mayor of Typo City. Enjoy! Peace!**

**Thank you to **Nastygrl25, Jodie54, CerebralPrincess, BigRedMachineUK, Esha Napoleon, wwechick24, **and **Westfan **for reviewing the last chapter! Y'all rock, and I love you all!

* * *

**

Chapter 13: Unholy Alliance

Elektra grabbed onto the wooden shelving for support, trying to catch her breath. Her throat had somehow constricted to the size of a pinhole, too small to allow even individual molecules of oxygen to enter her lungs, and the floor beneath her feet felt as though it was pitching back and forth, like the deck of a boat on a stormy sea.

She had just returned from the ring, where Eric Bischoff's first order of business on the Monday night broadcast from Fort Wayne had been to call the entire Raw roster down to the squared circle-probably to address its two devastating losses to SmackDown at Taboo Tuesday six days prior.

Bischoff had never taken defeat lightly, particularly when it came at the hands of Teddy Long and the Friday night franchise, but surprisingly, the Raw GM had been cool and confident, his confidently arrogant expression betraying none of the fury or humiliation that he clearly still had to be feeling. Instead of berating the Superstars, he instead announced that a 10-man tag match would take place at Survivor Series between the two brands; five Raw wrestlers versus five SmackDown wrestlers.

As the GM rattled off the names of the men who would be participating in the Raw side of things, Elektra had tuned him out. It wasn't just that she didn't care-it was that she could barely hear _anything _over the ceaseless parade of images and sensations marching across her brain; memories whose painful acuity refused to dull, even with the passage of time...

_You stupid little bitch...you really have lost your mind..._

The man standing before her might have been calm and collected, but all Elektra could think about was how he had looked during their last encounter six days ago.

His eyes, bright with pain and hatred...

The cold loathing dripping from his voice as he spoke, spitting out one final parting shot before she stormed out of his office...

_If you walk out that door, Elektra...it is war between us..._

The silver-eyed Diva closed her eyes, letting the air escape her lungs in a long shaky breath. Her lips moved, silently enunciating one word, that single syllable that scared her more than the raw lust burning in Bischoff's eyes...

..._war..._

She had no doubt that the Raw GM meant to carry out his threat. Eric Bischoff was a cruel, vengeful individual—one who did not take either rejection or insubordination lightly. In many ways, he wasn't that far removed from Triple H…and just like the Cerebral Assassin, Bischoff's most dangerous weapon in his arsenal was his ability to manipulate, to _control._

He might never lift his hand to strike her…but that didn't mean that he couldn't hurt her just the same, didn't mean that he couldn't leave her bruised and bleeding on the floor. Just because the wounds from his particular brand of torment didn't show didn't mean that they weren't there, festering on the surface of her mind—and unlike normal cuts and bruises, _these _wounds never quite healed.

Right now, the two of them were at an impasse, dead-locked, bound together by a secret with the potential to annihilate them both. Elektra's ultimatum might be enough to keep Bischoff at bay—in spite of her fear, she had meant every word—but it was a threat she hoped she would never have to carry out…because once she pulled the trigger, the blowback would be nearly as deadly as the explosion…

If she told the McMahons one word, one _syllable _about what Bischoff had done to her—then Bischoff would tell Dave. It was as brutally simple as that. And the gray-eyed Diva would rather die than allow that to happen.

_Had_ almost died, in fact.

Nearly a week had elapsed since she had kicked the General Manager of Raw in the groin and ran out of his office—but Bischoff still had yet to retaliate for her actions…and somehow, that scared Elektra even more than the very act of retribution itself. If the GM had lashed out out of anger; if he had pulled her out of the Taboo Tuesday match or suspended her or—God forbid—_fired_ her, she would have felt more at ease. She would have been upset, furious even…but at least she wouldn't have been subjected to this tortuous anticipation, this agonizing sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

At least she would have known that she had nothing more to fear.

This response—or lack thereof—from Bischoff, this _silence_, meant that he was planning something; that he had taken the time to swallow his anger and instead coldly assess how best to punish her for her disobedience.

The whole time that she had been out at ringside, Elektra kept expecting him to glance her way, to raise the microphone to his lips and utter her name in that unctuous tone of his...

_Elektra...remember what I said about quid pro quo..._

But the GM didn't even acknowledge her presence. Instead, he chose to focus all of his pent-up frustration on Edge, berating the Rated R Superstar for his..._participation _(or rather, lack thereof) at Taboo Tuesday. The Toronto native didn't exactly make things easier for himself by declaring that not only did he not give a damn about the fans, he also didn't give a damn about Raw.

Of course, it was entirely the wrong thing to say. Bischoff's response had been to book Edge in a match.

A Street Fight.

On SmackDown.

Against the World Heavyweight Champion...and Elektra's fiancee..._Batista_.

The gray-eyed Diva couldn't remember exactly what emotion bubbled up inside her when she heard that announcement...but she knew that it wasn't elation. It wasn't a question of who would win the match-Dave had beaten the Rated R Superstar before, in matches where weapons _weren't_ legal, and he had just emerged victorious in a Street Fight against Jonathan Coachman the week prior.

No, it was something else, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Something about the whole situation that just...felt..._wrong_.

The rest of the roster had quite a different reaction; they cheered and clapped, jeered at Edge, even joined Bischoff in sending the Rated R couple off with a rousing chorus of "The Goodbye Song".

Elektra was the only one who didn't join in. As she stood there, mutely ensconced between Maria and Ashley, Bischoff looked her way, and their eyes held for a second. The malicious light in his eyes had sent an icy rivulet of sweat trickling down her spine.

She could still remember his lips moving, barking out the song in a tuneless growl, spitting out lyrics that all of a sudden seemed to be directed at her...

_Nah nah nah nah_

_ Nah nah nah nah_

_ Hey hey hey_

_ Goodbye..._

The women's locker room was empty; all the other Raw Divas were out prepping for matches or backstage interviews, and as always, Elektra was grateful for the solitude. She pressed her forehead against the edge of the shelf, savoring the bite of pain as it dug into her skin, trying to keep Bischoff's words from echoing in her brain.

_ Vince McMahon…he barely survived against me…what makes you think that you even have a prayer?..._

He was right, of course—not even the Chairman of the WWE had emerged from battle with Eric Bischoff totally unscathed. Elektra might be a former Women's Champion and the former First Lady of Evolution—but she was also vulnerable. Trapped on Raw with a sadist for a boss, separated from the man she loved, and fast running out of allies—her odds already didn't look good.

He was going to hurt her; _that_ much was certain. Whether she would emerge from it in one piece…well, that remained to be seen. What Bischoff had done to her four months ago, as terrible and degrading it had been…in the end, it had been just business.

So what chance did she have, how could she possibly hope to survive…now that it had become personal?

Elektra groped blindly along the upper cubbyhole, her probing fingers sliding over the smooth cool leather surface of her purse, slipping inside the oversized bag and closing around the small familiar mass of her cell phone.

Without lifting her head up, the gray-eyed Diva flipped the electronic device open, her fingertips exploring the numeric keys with the practiced ease of a blind individual reading Braille. All of her important contacts were on speed dial; with her thumb, Elektra located the "1" key—the number assigned to Dave's cell phone.

But just before she could press it, just before she could exert the tiny amount of pressure that would connect her to her fiancée…the silver-eyed Diva hesitated.

What was she possibly going to tell Dave when he answered the phone—that she was calling to warn him? That she had a bad feeling? Based on what? An look? A song? Intuition?

And after that…then what? Would she then tell the Animal about the incident at Taboo Tuesday; tell him that Bischoff had tried to abuse his power, and she, instead of acquiescing this time around, had foolishly decided to fight back?

She could, of course—but doing so would mean going into details; details she'd fought long and hard to keep buried. Doing so would mean explaining how, four months ago, Eric Bischoff had made her an offer, and she, for whatever reason—either desperation or insanity—had chosen to accept it…

Doing so would mean explaining why she had tried to end her life.

"I'll bet you're pretty fucking proud of yourself."

The silver-eyed Diva jumped a little as Lita's low alto voice cut across her thoughts. Snapping her phone closed and shoving it back into her purse, she turned to find herself nearly nose-to-nose with the Rated R Diva. Elektra was startled, but only for an instant; her expression quickly closing down into one of mutual dislike. "What're you talking about?" the gray-eyed Diva snapped.

"_You know_," Lita's tone was brusque, indicating that—for once—she was in no mood to play games. The Queen of Hardcore leaned in closer, planting one hand against the top set of shelves for support, her brown eyes narrowed with suspicion. "That little _scene_ out there in the ring—Eric telling Adam he has to go to _SmackDown_ and wrestle that jacked-up fiancée of yours—I'll bet it was all _your_ idea!"

"Are you _high_?" Elektra exclaimed. Her voice was choked, caught halfway between an exasperated scream and a laugh. "You honestly think that I wanted this? That I had something to do with what happened out there?" The silver-eyed Diva shook her head incredulously, brushing past the Rated R Diva and moving toward the door. "You know, I never really bought into the whole 'slut' angle before, but now I'm beginning to think that the reason you're such a crazy bitch is because the syphilis is eating away at your brain—"

"Oh, so that _wasn't_ you I saw coming out of Bischoff's office in your underwear last week?" Lita's voice was light, almost sarcastic, but there was something lurking at the edges of it. Something _ugly_. "Funny…I could have sworn that it _was_."

Elektra stopped dead, her heart screeching to a halt as well. A cold shiver rippled over her body, constricting her skin into goose pimples, and she could felt the color leaching from her flesh.

The Queen of Hardcore laughed quietly, that soft throaty chuckle of hers that was more like a purr. "But then again, I'm _sure_ there's an acceptable explanation for what I saw; a perfectly logical reason for why _you_ would be coming out of the _General Manager's_ office, _half-naked_, and why, six days later, _my _man suddenly has to face _your _man in a Street Fight."

Lita slowly shook her head. "And _you _call _me_ a slut." The ugliness crept back into her tone. "You—the chick who used to be Triple H's whore_—_and now you're screwing the GM-"

Rage bloomed inside Elektra, like a dark flower unfolding within her mind, and she suddenly felt something inside her snap, like a wire pulled past its breaking point. Before she even knew what she was doing, the gray-eyed Diva whirled around, storming toward her former friend, grabbing the surprised Rated R Diva by the throat and slamming her against the shelving.

The back of Lita's skull met wood with a sickening CRACK, but Elektra didn't release her, didn't loosen her grip one iota. Instead, she leaned down until her face was level with the red-haired Diva's, her pale irises boring mercilessly into Lita's frightened brown ones. "If you..._ever_...say that to me again," Elektra spat, her tone flat and devoid of emotion. "I'll kill you."

Lita stared back at her with a sort of bewildered defiance; unwilling to back down, but uncertain of what consequences her stubbornness would bring. The silver-eyed Diva went on, her voice as dull and lifeless as the inhuman monotone of an android. "You think that just because no one likes me and no one likes you that we share some sort of solidarity, that we're the same somehow...but the truth is that we have _nothing in common." _Elektra bent down a little more, her nose practically touching Lita's. "I want _nothing _to do with you-do you understand? So from now on...you stay the hell away from me."

She abruptly let go, and the Rated R Diva sucked in a grateful breath, sagging a little, but not collapsing altogether. Elektra stared at her for a few seconds, her countenance inscrutable, before turning her back and heading for the door.

The gray-eyed Diva had barely gone a few paces before she heard Lita's voice behind her, low and vicious, punctuated by the occasional involuntary cough. "The only reason you have a career, the only reason people even know your _name_, is because you _fucked _the Cerebral Assassin." The Queen of Hardcore made a derisive noise in the back of her throat. "What gives _you_ the right to act like you're any better than me?"

Elektra's silvery irises slid to the side, but she didn't turn around. "Let it go, Amy. You _chose_ to be an outcast; _I didn't_."

The gray-eyed Diva shook her head. "I'm done with this. I'm done with _you_." Without another word, she grabbed the handle, yanking the door open and exiting out into the hall.

The red-haired Diva waited until it had made its return swing and the tumbler had clicked back into place before offering one final remark, her voice little more than a venomous whisper.

"_I'm not_."

* * *

"...and his opponent-" SmackDown announcer Tony Chimel's voice was barely audible over the roar of Saliva's powerful guitar riffs. "-the _World Heavyweight Champion...BA-TIS-TA_!"

Elektra looked down at her hands, which were clenched together tightly in her lap. Normally, seeing the imposing figure of her fiancee headed down to the ring to do battle was enough to infuse her whole body with a rush of warmth and love-but right now, all the silver-eyed Diva felt was coldness.

Coldness...and dread.

Overnight, the small flicker of foreboding inside her had gradually sprouted into full-fledged anxiety, gnawing at her insides, throbbing within her stomach like a second pulse. Her nerves were on high-alert; her intuition screaming with all the shrillness of a fire alarm, and her single hesitant attempt to eat something during her drive to Indianapolis had resulted in her swerving over to the shoulder of the road so she could vomit.

The fact that she was here on SmackDown didn't seem to be alleviating matters in any way; Elektra felt less like a visitor and more like the unwilling witness to an impending execution.

Something was going to happen tonight. Something _bad_. And there was nothing the gray-eyed Diva could do to stop it...because in spite of all her certainty, she had no idea what it might be. Her rationality was fast departing her, replaced by the painful icy grip of panic, and Elektra knew that she was only a few degrees removed from hysterical.

When she had stepped out of her rental car in the parking garage of the Conseco Fieldhouse, the very first thing she had seen was Dave, waiting for her at the back entrance to the arena. Just seeing his sharply-featured face light up at the sight of her, seeing him hold out his arms as he strode towards her...Elektra had nearly started crying.

She'd managed to stop herself at the last second, swallowing her tears just as Dave reached her side. But whatever remained on her face must have been enough to concern the Animal, because the first words out of his mouth were: _Baby...are you all right_?

Staring up into his dark eyes, full of love and trust, Elektra had almost told him the truth right then and there. Not just her doubts and fears about tonight...but everything else as well. The words were there, pressing against her lips, straining to be released. All she had to do was open her mouth and let them free-

But in the end, the old familiar terror of what would happen if she did clamped down over her. Just the thought of seeing Dave's loving expression morph into one of disgust and anger was more than she could bear; enough to make her swallow her words and instead offer a weak _Nothing...I'm just tired..._ by way of reply. Dave didn't broach the subject any more, but it was clear by the dubious expression on his face that he didn't believe her.

It was like being trapped in some kind of fucked-up Catch-22: she was lying to keep her and Dave together...but at the same time, it was the lies that were tearing them apart.

Supposedly, the truth would set you free...but was truth always better in the end?

"Are you all right, E?"

Elektra lifted her head, her silvery irises meeting Jillian Hall's concerned pale blue ones. Jillian was the only Diva on the SmackDown roster that she trusted; the two of them had gotten to know each other during Elektra's periodic visits to the Friday night franchise, and a friendship had slowly evolved between them. Outwardly, it seemed like a clash of personalities; Jillian was outgoing, with a demeanor that bordered on hyperactive...but she had a big heart, and she was also one of the few individuals on _either_ brand who insisted on treating the gray-eyed Diva like something other than a leper.

Elektra shot a quick glance at the monitor. Out in the ring, the World Heavyweight Champion had climbed the turnbuckle post to pose, while Edge (with Lita in tow) watched from outside the ring with more than a little trepidation. The silver-eyed Diva swung her gaze back to Jillian, forcing a smile onto her face, hoping that it didn't look as ghastly as it felt. "I'm fine; I just-"

Her voice abruptly trailed off into silence as the Titantron entrance practically exploded with light and sound, flames shooting up out of the floor. A familiar guitar-laden dirge blasted through the arena, and as the horrified Raw Diva watched, the unmistakable figure of one-half of the World Tag Team Champions, the Big Red Monster Kane, emerged from behind the black curtain. His stride was measured, purposeful, relentless...and his mismatched eyes were glued to Batista.

Elektra felt something inside her sink, as though a stone had been attached to her heart. She could feel her mouth moving up and down, but sound refused to emerge. Her mind, however, was surprisingly calm and clear, making mental connections with astounding lucidity.

She remembered thinking: _He's not alone. He didn't come here alone. Wherever Kane goes- _

_**Wellllllllll...it's the Big Shoooooowwwww...**_

Elektra hadn't even completed the thought before the second entrance theme rang out. Fixing her pale eyes to the screen, she saw the hulking mass of the seven-foot-tall, five-hundred-pound Big Show emerge from the crowd, making a beeline for the squared circle.

By now, Edge had climbed up onto the ring apron, his fearful countenance replaced by a smug grin. The Animal's expression didn't change, but it was clear from the way he kept looking at the three men circling him like a trio of sharks that he knew he was in trouble.

Elektra couldn't breathe; all the air had been snatched from her lungs during the first explosion of pyro. Her fingers curled around the slender chain of her necklace, as though the piece of jewelry was strangling her. She watched, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything except _bear witness_ as the World Tag Champions closed in on her fiancee.

At first, the World Heavyweight Champion fought back, nailing both Kane and the Big Show with hard rights. But even the brute strength of the Animal couldn't overcome the sheer raw power of _two_ monsters, and he was soon knocked down to the mat, courtesy of a headbutt from the five-hundred-pounder.

As soon as she saw Dave go down, the gray-eyed Diva let out a strangled sound that would have been a sob if she'd been able to draw in breath. Her thoughts were wild, almost chaotic.

_Lita did this. She went to Bischoff and-_

_ No. This was Bischoff's plan all along. He sent these two here because Dave won at Taboo Tuesday-_

Images, sounds, pressing down on her-

_Nah nah nah nah_

-that mean little look Bischoff had given her-

_Nah nah nah nah_

_ -"_If you walk out that door...it is war between us..."_-_

Then, with a horrifying CLICK, like the slide of a gun racking back, the whole thing became clear. This ambush, this _assault_...it wasn't about Lita or Dave or Raw or SmackDown-

_Hey hey hey_

It was about _her_.

_Goodbye..._

Elektra had spent the past week dreading what the consequences would be for her actions at Taboo Tuesday. Well...now she finally knew.

Bischoff wasn't going to hurt _her_...not physically, anyway. No, instead, he was punishing her by hurting the man she loved; forcing her to watch as Dave was physically dissected by two behemoths.

_See what I can do? _She could almost hear the Raw GM's triumphant cackle echoing in her ear. _See what I'm capable of? I just took out SmackDown's champion-what makes you think YOU have a chance against me?_

_ If I can't hurt you, I'll hurt them..._

_ The ones you love..._

_ The people you care about..._

_ And the best part is: only YOU'LL know that whatever misfortune befalls them is YOUR fault..._

_ YOUR fault..._

The gray-eyed Diva's fingers clutched her necklace, tighter, tighter...until the chain suddenly broke with a low SNAP. Elektra abruptly vaulted off the bench, spinning away from Jillian, almost staggering toward the door. Her voice was barely audible, only a choked whisper. "I can't...I can't _breathe..."_

Jillian said something, but Elektra was already out in the hall, and the locker room swung shut, cutting her off. The silver-eyed Diva swayed unsteadily, leaning against the wall for support. Her legs felt wobbly, as though her bones had turned to water.

Nevertheless, she kept moving forward, kept putting one foot in front of the other. Elektra wasn't entirely which way the ring was, or even what she was going to do when she got there. All she knew was that she was responsible for what was occurring.

She had brought this on Dave. She had brought this on them both.

A figure suddenly materialized in front of her, little more than a barely formed blur to her half-crazed mind. She heard it utter her name, and the shapeless form quickly reconstituted itself into the concerned face of Eddie Guerrero.

The former WWE Champion reached out, grasping Elektra's upper arms, simultaneously supporting and restraining her. "E, what's wrong? Where're you going-"

The gray-eyed Diva struggled, albeit weakly, to free herself; her words emerging as frantic sentence fragments: "Dave...I have to stop it...they're hurting him-"

The Latino Superstar immediately shook his head. "Uh-uh, _querida_, Dave would kill me if I let you go down to that ring right now. Besides...Bischoff...that cowardly _hijo de puta_...if he sees you in a SmackDown ring, he'll fire you-"

"He knows I'm here," Elektra's voice was dull, distracted, as though Eddie wasn't even there. "He knew I'd be here tonight. He _wanted_ me to see this."

The former WWE Champion froze, peering into the gray-eyed Diva's face, his eyebrows coming together in a frown. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

As his query hung in the air between them, Elektra turned her head, her pale irises focusing on him for the first time. Her lips trembled, moving wordlessly. A tear rolled down her cheek. Then another.

And drawing in a deep breath, the silver-eyed Diva finally found her voice, her words coming out in a panicked scream:

"_Don't you understand? It's MY fault! They're doing this because of me! They're HURTING him because of ME!"_

With that, Elektra burst into tears, and twisting away from the shocked SmackDown Superstar, dashed down the hall. Eddie let her go, his startled expression gradually melting into one of sympathy as he watched the gray-eyed Diva disappear around a corner.

"What happened to you, _querida_?" the former WWE Champion whispered.

* * *

Elektra turned on the faucet, gathering a handful of water between her cupped palms and splashing it onto her face. She repeated this action a second time, then shut the tap off, watching as the remainder of the water swirled down the drain.

Wiping her face off on her sleeve, the silver-eyed Diva looked up, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. The young woman staring back at her looked haunted, on edge, her complexion waxy and pale, her eyes red and puffy from weeping. She had lost weight; her features were just a little bit sharper than they should have been, and her eyes now seemed too large for her face, like a pair of silver dollars stuck on underneath her eyebrows.

Elektra turned away from her reflected countenance, leaning against the sink and tilting her face up toward the ceiling. She could feel the first twinges of a migraine starting near her right temple. The small club wasn't particularly noisy, but the gray-eyed Diva's hearing had become more acute than normal; every note of music, every conversation, every laugh, grated on her ears like nails on a chalkboard. Dave was doing better than her, but she could tell from the way that he had been half-heartedly sipping his beer that he didn't want to be here any more than she did.

Besides, the longer she remained in her fiancee's presence...the more the guilt inside her intensified, wrapping its oily presence around her heart, pulling her down toward the floor. More than once, she had looked up to find Dave gazing lovingly at her...and every single time, she had to look away, unable to meet his eyes.

_Don't you know what I did_?... she had wanted to scream. _Don't you know what I've put you through? How can you stay with me-how can you LOVE me after what I did to you?..._

Elektra sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve, glancing around at her surroundings. The unisex bathroom was a single room, the walls painted a dirty red, its only accoutrements a toilet, a sink, and a mirror-in other words, the perfect place for a former Women's Champion to quietly throw up, and then quietly fall to pieces.

It wasn't her fault. Her brain knew this; the logical part of her psyche was well aware that it had been Kane and the Big Show who had choke-slammed the Animal, not her.

But Elektra's relationship with Dave had never been about rationality; their romance was based on something that couldn't be explained away by logic-which was why she couldn't block the mantra emanated from the emotional side of her being, uttering the same three words over and over again:

_It's your fault..._

_ It's your fault..._

_ It's your fault..._

And in the back of her mind, the former First Lady of Evolution was faintly aware that she might not have to wait for Bischoff to destroy her...the secrets festering inside her could very well do the job for him.

Elektra pushed herself away from the sink, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. She had to get over this. One way or another, she had to put this aside, shove it away where it could do no further damage...or else she would go completely insane.

Taking a deep breath, the silver-eyed Diva unlocked the door and stepped out into the club. The restroom was only a short distance from where she and Dave were sitting; a small sectional couch wedged in the corner by the window. As Elektra neared, she saw the broad shoulders and back of her fiancee emerge into view, and she felt an inexplicable sense of peace fall over her.

Dave was strong. He would survive this; after the Cerebral Assassin, he could survive anything. They would get through this...because the single unexplainable truth of their relationship was this: they were meant to be together.

All of a sudden, the gray-eyed Diva ground to a halt, ignoring the muffled curses of individuals who narrowly missed colliding with her. Elektra's focus wasn't on them, however; it was on the Animal.

When she had excused herself, Dave had been sitting alone. Now, however, that was no longer the case. Someone was sitting next to him.

Someone _female._

And it didn't take Elektra long to recognize who it was.

Melina was still clad in the revealing black top and ultra-short denim skirt she had wore to the SmackDown taping, her blond-streaked brown hair pulled back stylishly from her beautiful face. Elektra was too far away to make out what she was saying to the World Heavyweight Champion, but she recognized enough of the SmackDown Diva's body language to hazard a guess.

The way Melina was leaning back on her hands, pushing her ample chest out. The way one bare leg was crossed primly over the other. Elektra had used the exact same tricks enough times with Triple H to know exactly what she was looking at.

MNM's manager was _flirting_.

And not just flirting...but flirting with _Dave_.

_Her _Dave.

_Her goddamn fiancee._

_ While she was in the bathroom_.

Elektra felt something inside her shift, like a stone flipping over in her stomach, and for a moment, the clouds of self-pity surrounding her parted long enough for a sharp spike of jealousy to pierce her insides.

_This_..._this_ was the last straw. The silver-eyed Diva had been through just about every kind of shit imaginable in the past week; the very last thing she needed at this point was to come back from the bathroom to find some A-list wannabe draped all over her fiancee.

For just a split second, Elektra was tempted to grab the other Diva by the hair and slam her jaw-first onto the sticky wooden floor. But she quickly forced herself to swallow that impulse. Melina might be beautiful, smart, and dangerous...but at the end of the day, she was out of her league. There might not have been much left in Elektra of the confident young Diva who had once attracted the attention of the Game...but there was enough, and right now, she was going to show the little bitch just which one of them truly was the Dominant Diva.

Forcing an easy smile on her face, Elektra strode forward, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. Dave looked up, his face lighting up when he saw her, and the silver-eyed Diva eased her slim frame down onto his lap. "Miss me?" she asked, her tone teasing.

The Animal chuckled, his face creasing in a smile. "Always, baby," he replied, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on her cheek. Elektra draped her arms around his neck, nestling closer against him...all while surreptitiously studying the paparazzi princess from beneath her half-closed lashes. Melina hastily straightened up, tugging at the edges of her top as though she could not possibly imagine how it could have slipped so low in the first place. The former Women's Champion fought the urge to roll her eyes. _Amateur.._.

"Listen, Elektra-" Melina was talking now, incredibly enough, and Elektra swung her gaze nonchalantly in that direction, as though she had forgotten that MNM's manager was even there. The SmackDown Diva looked down uncertainly, twisting her hands together in her lap. "I just...I wanted to apologize for what I said a few weeks ago. I...I was in character, and I was totally out of line, and...I'm sorry." Melina blinked innocently, almost like a princess in a Disney movie. "I just hope there are no hard feelings between us-"

"Of course not," Elektra answered smoothly, almost but not quite cutting the other Diva off. "I've already forgotten about it..._Melina_." She uttered the other Diva's name slowly, as though she wasn't quite sure who she was talking to-a more than subtle that their altercation was not _all_ she'd forgotten.

Before the paparazzi princess could add anything further, Elektra turned her attention back to Dave, an affectionate note creeping into her voice. "Listen, Dave...I'm kind of tired. Could we call it an early night?"

The World Heavyweight Champion's grin widened, and he leaned in to kiss her on the tip of her nose. "As always...you're reading my mind, baby. Let's go." Elektra hopped off his lap, and the Animal stood, taking her hand in his.

"See you next week, Dave!" the Dominant Diva called out, but Batista was already walking away, his attention no longer on her...but on his fiancee.

As soon as the pair vanished into the crowd, Melina's pleasant smile vanished, her perfect features twisting into a furious scowl. The SmackDown Diva slumped back against the couch, crossing her arms over her chest, her countenance fixed in a pout. "Bitch..." she muttered viciously under her breath.

"Well..._that_ went well."

Melina looked up sharply as the new voice invaded her space, her scowl deepening as the Queen of Hardcore eased down next to her on the sectional. The paparazzi princess pursed her lips, her dark eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What are_ you _ doing here?"

Lita shrugged, stirring the ice cubes in her glass with a small green straw. "Just enjoying the show-epic failure is _always_ entertaining." She shot the Dominant Diva a sidelong glance. "I was waiting for you to start humping his leg. Could you have been any _less_ subtle?"

Melina's gaze swept wordlessly over her Raw counterpart: Lita's vibrantly-hued hair, the huge tattoo covering her right shoulder, the tiny black top that just _barely_ contained her breasts. "_You're_ one to lecture _me_ about subtlety," MNM's manager shot back sarcastically. She looked forward again, letting out her breath in an impatient huff. "What do you know, anyway?"

"A lot more than you do, chica," the Rated R Diva replied without missing a beat. She stared hard at Melina. "For instance...I know that it doesn't take a blind man to see that you're aiming for Dave Batista...and you could get him, too...if it wasn't for that bitch fiancee of his."

Melina said nothing, only continued to pout in sulky silence. Lita took a sip of her drink before continuing. "It must drive you crazy. I mean, here _you_ are, doing everything short of taking your top off, and all _she _has to do is show up, and POOF!" Lita blew across the tips of her fingers, as though releasing a clump of dandelion fluff into the wind. "He's forgotten about you."

She favored the paparazzi princess with another knowing look. "How does that feel? Being the quote-on-quote 'Dominant Diva', and yet the one man you want only has eyes for a suicidal hot mess like Elektra-"

Melina rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she muttered. "Why do you even care?"

Lita's expression never altered. "_Because I can help you get him."_

The Dominant Diva went stock still for a heartbeat or two, then slowly swung her gaze toward the Queen of Hardcore. "Yeah, right," she scoffed, but there was doubt in her tone, and in the depths of her dark eyes, Lita thought she could see the faintest glimmer of distrustful hope. "How?"

The Rated R Diva shrugged again. "I'm not saying it'll be _easy_. Hot mess or no hot mess, Dave really _does_ love the little psycho." She took another sip, staring down into her glass as though it contained some divine secret. "But love only goes so far. It's hard, being on two different brands...and from what I hear, our E hasn't exactly been a little angel in Dave's absence."

Melina was silent. After a few moments, Lita looked up, a low harsh laugh escaping her throat. "Look, it's simple. You want Dave Batista. I want Elektra knocked down a peg or two." She cocked her head to the side, looking over at her SmackDown counterpart. "The way I see it...we can help each other out." A slow mean smile crept across her lips. "So...what do you say?"

For a second or two, there was no response from the paparazzi princess. Then, gradually, Melina relaxed, leaning back against the couch, propping her chin up on her hand, her expression assuming a look quite similar to Lita's in its simple manipulative cruelty.

"_I'm listening..."_


	15. Chapter 15: Letting Go

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I'm not going to comment too much on the long wait, suffice that it involved a thesis and a lack of inspiration. But the thesis is done and the inspiration is back, so there we are. I'm going to be honest that it was hard writing this chapter; hopefully, when you're reading, you'll understand why. But until then...ENJOY! PEACE!**

**A/A/N: I included a link to E's wedding dress on my profile page, so y'all can see what I was basing the description off of.**

**Thank you to **Jodie54, Nastygrl25, BigRedMachineUK, Esha Napoleon **and **The Cajun Phoenix **for reviewing the last chapter! You all ROCK and I love you ALL *hugs***

* * *

Chapter 14: Letting Go

"_And did you know that letting go/Is sometimes easier than holding on..." - TRUSTcompany, "Letting Go"_

Elektra pushed the changing room curtain aside, stepping up onto the raised platform. She eyed her reflection in the three-way mirror, spinning around in a slow single revolution as she studied the dress from all angles. That accomplished, she turned toward her friends, a questioning expression on her face. "Well? What do you think of _this_ one?"

The other Divas' responses were emphatic and immediate. "No," Trish replied, shaking her head.

"Absolutely not," Maria chimed in, echoing the motion. Both of them glanced at Ashley, waiting for her to complete the trifecta, but the Diva Search winner wasn't paying attention; she was too busy texting on her phone, her lips moving silently as she spelled out the words.

To this, Maria rolled her eyes, and slapping on her best _I'm clueless and don't have any idea what I'm doing _smile, swiftly and sharply elbowed her friend in the ribs. Ashley instantly let out a surprised squawk, dropping her phone in the process. "Ow! What was _that_ for?"

The backstage reporter merely nodded in Elektra's direction, clearing her throat pointedly. Ashley looked from one to the other, her indignant countenance fading as she realized what was expected of her. "Oh! I...um...ah..." The silver-eyed Diva stared at her expectantly. Ashley fumbled for words for a few more seconds before eventually shrugging her shoulders. "Aw, fuck it - whatever they said."

Elektra's eager expression sagged into one of mild exasperation, and she let her breath out in an impatient sigh. "You know," the gray-eyed Diva remarked with only the faintest hint of sarcasm. "I invited you guys so you could help me pick out a wedding dress - _not_ so you could shoot down _every single one_ I try on."

"Whoa!" Trish laughed, holding up her hands in mock fright. "Easy there, _Bride-zilla_!"

"Yeah!" Maria added, giggling. "We're just making sure that you look amazing on the most important day of your life!"

To this, Elektra's expression softened a touch, but she nevertheless narrowed her pale irises at her friends. "All right...but if this keeps up, I'm finding you three the ugliest bridesmaid dresses imaginable."

"Whoa, wait a minute!" Ashley exclaimed as the silver-eyed Diva stalked back into the changing room, yanking the curtain shut behind her. "No one mentioned _anything_ to me about ugly bridesmaid dresses!"

"Just ignore Ash, E," Trish called out. "We all keep forgetting it's going to be strictly jeans and fishnets at _her_ wedding_." _Her words died away into laughter as the rookie Diva swatted playfully at her, accidentally smacking Maria in the process. The backstage reporter ducked down, covering her head with both arms. "Ow! Innocent bystander! _Innocent bystander_!"

Ashley tried to glare at Trish, even though she was already struggling to keep the smile off her own lips. "Shut up - it's be _my_ wedding; I can do what I want!" She paused, a look of almost childlike earnestness creeping across her pretty face. "Although...it would be _really_ sweet if I could find a black wedding dress."

It was as though she'd uttered the phrase "9-11"; you could almost hear the WHOOSH of all the air being sucked out of the room. Trish's expression didn't change, but she did sway a little in her seat as though she had been slapped, her complexion a few shades paler than normal. Next to her, Maria stared awkwardly at the floor, twisting her hands together nervously in her lap. Elektra was still in the dressing room, but as soon as the Diva Search winner's comment floated out into the air, it was accompanied by the clatter of a plastic hanger hitting the floor, the sound like a gunshot in the ensuing silence.

Ashley looked from one Diva to the other, bewilderment written across her delicate features. "What? What'd I say..." Her voice faded away, recognition flashing across her face as she realized the implications of what she had just said. "Oh, _shit_! Trish, I'm sorry; I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," the Women's Champion replied softly. Her whole mouth had gone numb, and she could barely hear the words coming out. In her mind's eye, all she could hear was the roar of the fans...and above it all, her own voice, scornful and mocking...

_I even wore white...because I knew that you couldn't_...

"No, really, I-" The rookie Diva stopped, perhaps comprehending that she was only digging herself further into a hole, and instead snatched her phone up off the floor, nervously resuming her texting.

"It's _fine_," Trish repeated, her voice flat, almost mechanical - but in the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware that she was lying, that-

_Now, honey, I know you're nervous and confused about having to marry...KANE..._

-it wasn't _fine_; that, in a sense-

_All you have to do is open your heart...just like you opened your legs..._

_ -_it hadn't been _fine_ for a long time.

The Women's Champion squeezed her eyes closed for a second or two. She had always known, with some deeply rooted primal sense, that she and Elektra were destined to be friends - something she had known since the night they met almost two years ago, and a feeling which had persisted despite the politics and distrust that divided them.

But as close as she and the gray-eyed Diva were now, they were still merely two sides of an incomplete triangle. And it didn't matter how sweet Maria was or how cool Ashley was or how much fun either of them was to hang around...because the missing side; the absent third member of their triumvirate...would always be Lita.

At the thought of the Queen of Hardcore, Trish felt something invert inside her, like her stomach flipping over - a sensation that was not quite nausea, not quite anger; nothing except the dull empty echo of spent emotion. She could never forgive Lita for the things she had done - and knew that Elektra had even less of a reason to do the same - but that didn't stop the ache from persisting...and couldn't fill the void that even now was squatting in this room, reminding her that two was not enough; that they were _always_ meant to be three.

Trish glanced over at the closed changing room curtain, feeling a faint flash of hot anger. Over the last few months, Lita had more or less earned every ounce of hatred she had received...the same could not be said for Elektra. The Women's Champion still could not grasp the hypocritical attitudes that existed in the Superstar and Diva rosters toward the silver-eyed Diva.

Most of it was residual, left over from the reigning days of Evolution; even Trish had fallen prey to that particular brand of animosity at one point in time. But then again...that had been a long time ago. Evolution had been torn apart the day the Animal had challenged Triple H for his World Heavyweight Championship, and Elektra had endured enough physical and mental torment at the hands of the Game to at least substantiate that life within the faction hadn't all been wine and roses.

But that hadn't been enough for the majority of the roster. Now, their opinions had swung to the other end of the spectrum; _now_ they were accusing the gray-eyed Diva of using her time in Evolution as an excuse to garner pity. Personally, Trish couldn't think of anything that was more ridiculous - because if there was one thing Elektra absolutely _refused_ to talk about, it was Evolution.

Even with as much as she knew about the situation, the Women's Champion was certain that she didn't know _all_ the particulars; that only Elektra knew for certain just how bad things had been. But nevertheless, the belief persisted - and whatever public opinion that remained on the fence during that time, staying neutral and unwilling to commit to either side...well, that had been swayed, too, in recent months.

Everything had changed...the night the gray-eyed Diva had slit her wrists.

Trish felt a chill course through her. She still couldn't believe most of the time that her best friend had tried to kill herself; only after she saw the thick scars bisecting Elektra's wrists would the sobering truth finally hit home - that one night, the silver-eyed Diva had made the conscious decision to die.

More than that...that whatever had driven her to despair on that dark July night...was still killing her.

Almost every day for the past four months, the Women's Champion had pondered what could have compelled Elektra to resort to such a drastic act - and after four months, she was no nearer to discovering the truth...suffice to say that Eric Bischoff was somehow involved.

Trish had seen..._something_...that day in Bischoff's office, and it hadn't been just his vainglorious attitude - the Raw GM got off on power trips; manipulation was his sole form of amusement. No...it had been during those few instances when she had stolen a glance at Elektra, and had been shocked to see her friend's head bowed, her hands folded limply in her lap, her body language slumped and utterly defeated.

The gray-eyed Diva had looked like a dog that has been kicked so many times it has come to expect the blow...and radiating off her was the unmistakable aura of shame. And the look on her face...Trish had seen that look once before, more than a year ago, when Lita had returned to their hotel room late one night pale and trembling, her clothing torn and disheveled.

Despite Trish's frantic questioning, the red-haired Diva refused to talk about what had happened; it wasn't until a few weeks later, when Lita discovered she was pregnant, that the Women's Champion finally grasped the truth...but by then, so had everyone else.

And for not the first time, Trish found herself wondering if her friendship with Elektra was destined to play out the same way; if the triangle was meant to be ripped asunder completely beyond all repair - because whatever secret was lodged within the silver-eyed Diva's psyche...was slowly but methodically tearing them apart.

Elektra's voice stirred the Women's Champion from her reverie, jarring her back to the present: "...okay, _this_ is _it_! If you guys don't like _this _one, then I am calling it quits for the day and going home to have a cocktail." Plastic rings clicked against metal as the gray-eyed Diva shoved the curtain aside, stepping up onto the raised platform.

Trish obligingly lifted her gaze to give comment...and felt her mouth involuntarily drop open in shock. Next to her, she heard Maria take a sharp intake of breath, followed by the THUMP of Ashley's cell phone hitting the floor.

The dress was pure snowy white, with a strapless corseted bodice lightly dusted with rhinestones. It was structured and form-fitting to just below her hips, at which point the skirt flared out in a subtle cascade of ruffled material all the way to the floor. The lines of the dress accentuated Elektra's height and slim figure - and even with no makeup and her hair pulled up into a loose bun...she looked jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

The silver-eyed Diva looked from one friend to the other, her eyebrows already coming together in a frown. "Well?" she demanded. No answer; everyone seemed to be capable of little more than blinking. Elektra threw up her hands. "Okay, _okay_! I _get_ it! You hate the dress! I'll take it off-"

"_Wait_!" Trish's frantic cry froze the gray-eyed Diva in her tracks, and she looked back, her irritation already giving way to puzzlement...and a little hope. The other three Divas looked at each other, nodded, looked back at her...and in almost perfect unison, exclaimed:

"_That's the one_!"

* * *

Elektra turned the wheel to the right, turning down onto her street. Only the minimum amount of her conscious mind was actually focused on what she was doing; the rest was already skipping ahead to her planned agenda for tonight. Since they were already in town, Trish, Maria, and Ashley were all coming over to her house later for margaritas, board games, and gossip. Plus, Dave was here as well, and after the other Divas had left, she would be able to spend some much-needed quality time alone with her fiancee.

In spite of herself, the silver-eyed Diva felt a slow smile slip across her face. As tedious as today's outing had been, it had also been exactly what she needed. After the roller coaster ride that the last few months had been, Elektra needed to remember that she had a life outside of the WWE. That when the lights were off and the ring was dismantled, she could go home and laugh with her friends and snuggle with her fiancee and plan a wedding just like everyone else.

This other life; this existence beyond the squared circle - it was something that none of her enemies could touch. Not Triple H, not Randy Orton...not even Eric Bischoff. In a career where her presence had become almost non-existent, this life was the only thing reminded that her actions still had meaning; that she still had weight and substance in this world...and without it, she would go completely insane.

But enough dwelling on that...she had more pressing things to think about. There were a million little chores she needed to complete before her friends came over; straighten up the downstairs, make the bed, throw in a load of laundry-

Elektra's thoughts screeched to an abrupt halt as she pulled into her driveway and saw the figure sitting on her front stoop. She instinctively slammed on the brake, the seatbelt preventing her from being thrown into the steering wheel.

For a long moment, the two of them sat there, regarding each other through the windshield. Eventually, though, the gray-eyed Diva turned off the ignition, and swallowing hard, opened the door and stepped out. She gripped the frame of the driver's side door for dear life, afraid that if she let go, her bones would turn to jelly and give way beneath her.

Slowly, she bobbed her head in a courteous nod. "Hello...Eddie,"

Eddie Guerrero returned the gesture, rising to his feet and shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Hello, _querida_."

* * *

Elektra led the SmackDown Superstar into the kitchen, shrugging off her coat and tossing it onto one of the stools. "Can I get you something to drink? Some water, or..." She trailed off, hating the phony cheer in her voice. It sounded forced; like she was talking just to fill the silence.

"I'm good," Eddie replied quietly, cutting her off without interrupting her. His expression was pleasant enough...but there was no masking the purpose in his eyes. As the silver-eyed Diva stood there, wondering what to say next, his gaze shifted past her, lighting on the entrance to the sunroom. "What's that back there?"

Before Elektra could answer, Latino Heat had maneuvered past her, stepping into the room and letting out a low whistle of appreciation. "Say..._this_ is _nice_." He glanced back at Elektra. "Bet you must spend a lot of time back here, huh, _querida_?" Again, before the gray-eyed Diva could muster up a response, he moved further into the room, sinking down into one of the wicker armchairs. "Why don't you come back here and sit with me - we'll have a little talk."

For a moment or two, Elektra could only stand there, blinking stupidly like a cow, wondering how Eddie had so deftly managed to manipulate her into a conversation. Gradually, though, she relented, walking into the sunroom on feet that she was no longer sure even belonged to her any more. She took a seat on the white chaise lounge, putting her opposite Latino Heat, tucking her feet underneath her.

The SmackDown Superstar regarded her for a second or two, folding his hands over his stomach, before clearing his throat. "I'm not going to beat around the bush, E," His dark eyes bore into hers, full of caring. "What _happened_ Tuesday night at SmackDown?"

Elektra could barely think; her heart was thudding loudly in her ears, the sound deafening. Her rib cage was compressing, squeezing her lungs into a tight hard knot, and it was taking everything she had just to keep breathing. "You know me," she finally replied, painfully aware that her words were coming just a fraction too late to contain any credibility. "Whenever I see Dave...get _hurt_...I get upset; you know that-"

"E," Eddie's voice was grave, but not unkind. "You're a horrible liar...and besides...you can't lie to a _Guerrero_." He leaned forward a little, his eyes still fastened on her. "What _happened_ that night? What has you so scared? And why did you keep saying that it was your fault?"

Elektra looked away, tears stinging her eyes. She sniffed, swiping hastily at her lower lashes. "Look, Eddie...what do you _want_ from me?" Her voice was thick and choked. "Why won't you all just _leave me alone_?"

"Because we _care_ about you, _querida_!" Latino Heat exclaimed, sitting up in his chair. His voice was so sharp that the silver-eyed Diva flinched a little. The SmackDown Superstar went on. "Because we can see that something's eating away at you on the inside! Every time I see you, _querida_...you look so _sad_...and it breaks my heart, because you should be so happy..."

Eddie hesitated a moment, shaking his head. "You think...that if you just smile and put on a happy face...we won't see how much you're suffering. But we _do_, E...Dave most of all."

At the mention of her fiancee's name, Elektra stiffened a little. Latino Heat continued. "Do you know...what he was like...the night it happened?" He went on without waiting for her assent. "We were all sitting in the room...him and me and Rey...just laughing and talking - and then his phone rang."

Eddie paused, biting his lip. "Dave answered it...and all of a sudden, his face went _white_, like all the life had been drained out of him. And he...he couldn't stand up - I think if Rey and I hadn't been there to grab him...he would have fallen on the floor."

The gray-eyed Diva closed her eyes in pain, tears rolling slowly down her face. "Please...stop..." she whispered.

Eddie, however, was relentless. "The look on his face, _querida_...I think that if the Lord hadn't been watching, if you had..." He stopped, unable to voice the word. "...if you had...he would have killed himself, too."

"_Stop, please_!" The words burst from Elektra in a strangled cry, and she started to weep. Eddie obeyed, his expression full of worry and sympathy. The silver-eyed Diva pressed her mouth to her mouth as she struggled to calm herself down enough to speak: "I _never_...the _last _thing I wanted to do was _hurt_ him...and it _kills _me that I am..." Her voice faded off again, swallowed up by sobs.

"What did you do, E?" Eddie's voice was gentle and coaxing. "What did you do that was so bad it was worth killing yourself over? Did you kill someone?"

The question was so unexpected that Elektra almost started coughing from lack of air. She gazed at Eddie with incredulity...as well as more than a little indignation. "_No_!"

"Did you steal something?" Latino Heat pressed on. "Take drugs?"

The gray-eyed Diva wiped her nose on her sleeve. "No...and no." To this, Eddie said nothing; merely spread his arms wide as though to say: _Then what?_ Elektra stared at him for several long seconds before averting her gaze once again. Her voice was tentative, halting. "I did..._something_...that I'm not proud of...and it blew up in my face."

Eddie's face relaxed into a smile - his first since arriving at the house. "_Querida_, haven't we _all_?" Elektra didn't reply; nor did she look in his direction. Latino Heat went on. "E...I'm not going to judge you, okay? That's not my job. All I'm asking you to do is take a little bit of the weight off yourself and put it on me - I'm a strong man; I can take it. Please, _querida_...just tell me _what happened_."

Elektra sat there, her cheeks damp and cool with tears - and before she knew it, the words were pouring out of her, almost too fast to be understood...but she didn't stop.

There is no stopping the truth when it decides to set itself free.

* * *

It took her longer than she expected to get the entire story out. Eddie didn't say a word the entire time; only listened to her with the same unreadable expression. When she was finished, the silver-eyed Diva felt hollow, drained, as though something had reached inside her and scooped her clean. She didn't break down again, thankfully, but tears continued to stream down her cheeks, like the slow relentless drip of a leaky faucet.

After what seemed like an eternity, the SmackDown Superstar stood, walked the few steps over to Elektra, sat down beside her, and wrapped his arm comfortingly around her shoulders. His voice was a low soothing whisper. "You are _strong_, _querida_ - much stronger than you think. What happened to you shouldn't have happened...and the last thing you need to do is blame yourself."

Latino Heat paused, and Elektra could almost sense what he was going to say next. "_But_...you can't keep this locked inside, E. Sooner or later, this will get out - and it _will_ get out, _querida_. Better Dave hears the truth from you now than later on from the boys in the locker room."

"He'll never forgive me," Elektra's tone was soft and broken. "He'll never understand-"

Eddie chuckled softly. "E...Dave _loves_ you. Anyone can see that. If he loves you as much as I'm sure he does...he'll forgive you. Understanding...that'll come later...but someday, he _will_ understand why you did what you did."

Once again, the SmackDown Superstar hesitated, a note of absolute seriousness creeping into his voice. "But I know how you are, E. I know that you'd rather ignore something until it goes away instead of dealing with it head-on...so as much as I hate to do this, _querida_...I'm giving you an ultimatum." Another pause, even longer this time. "Either you tell Dave the truth...or I will."

At this, Elektra looked up sharply, her eyes full of horror and disbelief. She searched Eddie's gaze for some indication that he was kidding, or at least exaggerating... and from the other side of the house came the sound of the front door opening, followed by Dave's deep voice: "Elektra? Baby, you here?"

The gray-eyed Diva quickly sat up, wiping at her cheeks with her sleeve; Eddie edged away from her a little on the chaise. She heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the kitchen, and a second later, the Animal poked his head in, his face lighting up in a loving smile at the sight of her. "There you are; I didn't expect-"

His voice trailed off in stunned surprised when he saw Latino Heat sitting next to his fiancee on the white chaise lounge. "Eddie," the World Heavyweight Champion remarked, his voice pleased...but also laced with puzzlement. "What're...you...doing here?"

Elektra opened her mouth to speak, her brain frantically scrambling for an excuse for the SmackDown Superstar's presence - but before she could do so, Eddie beat her to it, rising to his feet. "Hey, _homes_," he replied brightly. "I was concerned because I hadn't received my wedding invitation in the mail yet, and I wanted to make sure that I was still invited."

It was a lie, and obviously a lie...but yet, it was so earnest and heartfelt and undeniably Eddie Guerrero that you almost had no choice but to accept it at face value. Dave was no exception; he burst out laughing, the initial caution all but gone from his eyes. "You _better_ be there - last time I checked, you were still the best man."

"Is that so?" Eddie held out his hand to Elektra and she accepted it, rising to her feet. Latino Heat continued, linking his arm through the gray-eyed Diva's as he led her across the room, his dark eyes glinting devilishly. "That means I get to hand you the rings, right? That means I get to make the _toast_-"

Elektra shot a sly look in her fiancee's direction. "You know...on second thought...maybe we _should_ pick someone else-"

"No, _querida_!" Eddie cried out in mock helplessness. "I was only kidding!" Elektra let go of his arm, crossing the short distance to her fiancee, wrapping her arms around his waist and tilting her face up to receive his proffered kiss. Latino Heat glanced from one to the other. "C'mon, _homes_ - who's going to do it if not me?"

The Animal shrugged, still gazing at his fiancee as he spoke. "Man's got a point, baby. Only other guy on my list was Hacksaw Jim Duggan - and let's just face it, that two-by-four's gonna look really awkward during the wedding photos."

Elektra returned the gesture. "Well, then, looks like you'll have to go with your first choice after all, then." She glanced at Eddie, a teasing grin playing at the corners of her mouth. "Eddie...guess you're back in." Latino Heat's response was to press his hands together, rolling his eyes heavenward as he muttered a prayer or two in Spanish.

He glanced back at the couple, his face softening with affection. "You two...are going to be so happy," he remarked softly. "I'm just glad I'm going to be there to see it happen."

A long silence followed his words, and the silver-eyed Diva felt tears sting her eyes once again. Eventually, Eddie cleared his throat, shuffling his feet on the carpet. "Well...I should get going; Vickie and the girls are waiting on me." He pointed at Elektra. "Next week - super show, Minneapolis; I _expect_ to see you in a match, _querida_."

Elektra rolled her eyes, as though to suggest that the SmackDown Superstar would be more likely to see a pig sprout wings and fly. Eddie said nothing further; only offered a brief wave, and turning around, strolled toward the front of the house. The gray-eyed Diva watched him turn a corner and disappear into the living room, followed by the soft CLICK of the door opening and closing.

She never saw Eddie again.


	16. Chapter 16: Here Without You

**A/N: I think it should be obvious from the start why it took me six months to write this chapter. As a wrestling fan, I know that this was something that hit all of us hard, and as I was writing this chapter, I realized just how much I've never really gotten over it. I tried to incorporate those feelings into this chapter, but at the same time, tried to further a story where the characters all have agendas outside of this particular tragedy. I mean no disrespect to anyone; I'm just like the rest of you - I'm telling a story. With that caveat, enjoy.**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, VanityMayhem, BigRedMachineUK, Nastygrl25, Jodie54, **and **rawgirl54 **for reviewing the last chapter! I love you ALL! PEACE!**

* * *

Chapter 15: Here Without You

"_You know, it doesn't feel like we lost Eddie. It feels like he was ripped right out of our arms. It's still shocking. It still hurts." - Dave Bautista, "Batista Unleashed"_

"_Could it be any harder to say goodbye without you?..." - The Calling, "Could It Be Any Harder"_

The sound of her cell phone ringer going off roused Elektra from a sound sleep. The gray-eyed Diva moaned quietly, rolling over onto her side and trying to mentally block out the obtrusive noise. She'd been in the middle of a really good dream - one involving her fiancee and a deserted white sandy beach somewhere - and already, she could feel the illusory warm tropical sunshine melting away, replaced by the impersonal blue-gray radiance of another November morning.

Gradually, though, as her conscious mind became more and more cognizant of the tangible environment surrounding it, she realized that the song emanating from her phone's tiny speaker was "I Walk Alone" - which meant that Dave was on the other end...and if there was one person she never let go to voice mail if she could help it, it was the Animal.

Yawning, Elektra kicked the covers off, rolling off the mattress and grabbing her cell in the process. Rubbing her eyes (which were still bleary and half-glued shut with sleep) she staggered toward the bathroom, stepping inside the small tiled space and closing the door behind her so as not to disturb the still-sleeping Trish. Biting back another jaw-cracking yawn, she pressed a button and held the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Elektra?" At the sound of her fiancee's voice, the silver-eyed Diva froze, all remaining vestiges of sleep vanishing immediately. Dave rarely called her by her full name anymore - with him, it was always "E" or "baby" - and whenever he _did_...well, it was usually never the precursor to anything _good_.

For one single heartbeat, Elektra's mind went blank. She groped blindly with one hand, locating the edge of the sink and grabbing onto it for support. "Dave!" she croaked, trying to force some semblance of normalcy into her tone. "What is it?"

She could barely hear her own voice, however, over the thundering memory of another; of the concern in Eddie's gaze as he stared back at her...

_I __know __how __you __are, __E...Either __you __tell __Dave __the __truth, __or __I __will..._

There was a long pause on the other end, followed by a deep shuddering breath from the World Heavyweight Champion. "I just got a call...from Dr. Rios." His voice was thick and tight with emotion, as though he had been crying, and so low that even she could barely hear him.

The gray-eyed Diva would always remember - and hate herself for - the confusion that flooded over her in that moment, as she wondered what the company doctor had to do with _any_ of this. In retrospect, she should have known then that something was _really_ wrong - and that Dave would hardly have woken her up this early to discuss a topic as selfishly inconsequential as herself - but either way, it didn't stop her from blurting out: "What does _he_ have to do with this?"

Another deep shaky breath, almost a sigh this time. "He told me-" Dave stopped, sniffed loudly, tried again. "He told me...that Eddie-"

At the mention of Latino Heat, Elektra felt something inside her plummet like a stone. A wave of disorientation washed over her, making her feel like an alien observer within her own form; unable to move or talk or even _think_. Her body seemed to be reacting without any sort of input from her - her skin was prickling up into goosebumps, the hair on the back of her neck was standing on end.

More than that, however, her mind was churning away at what felt like a zillion miles a second, piecing together information without her consent; forming a picture so unbelievably catastrophic that it was either the worst kind of lie...or the most unforgiving kind of truth.

The silver-eyed Diva swallowed hard. A lump seemed to have materialized in her throat, one composed of stone wrapped in barbed wire, and it was a monumental struggle just forcing words out. "Dave...what are you trying to say?" She hated the way her voice sounded: panicked and shrill, already cracking beneath the weight of growing emotion. "_What__'__s__wrong_?"

In the back of her mind, she remembered thinking: _Until __he __says __it, __it__'__s __not __true __- __and __he__'__s __not __going __to __say __it, __because __it__'__s __NOT __true. __It __CAN__'__T __be __true. __It__'__s __a __dream __or __a __hallucination __or __some __kind __of __fucked-up __joke __- __but __it__'__s __not __the __truth-_

And then she heard Dave's voice, its deep timbre choked with tears, uttering two words that she would remember for the rest of her life:

"_Eddie__'__s __dead_."

Elektra didn't actually recall screaming; the sound that tore out of her throat seemed like it was emanating from the end of a long hallway. The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering against the tile floor. The silver-eyed Diva reeled, staggering toward the doorframe, holding onto it for dear life with both hands. The world before her was pitching back and forth, like a ship caught in a storm, and it seemed as though reality itself would disintegrate at any second.

In the main room, she could see Trish, now fully awake, struggling to disentangle herself from the bedclothes, her pretty face creased with concern and agitation. The Women's Champion's mouth was moving, but Elektra couldn't hear what she was saying. In fact, she couldn't hear _anything_, save for the rapid beat of her own heart.

Her legs abruptly gave way and the gray-eyed Diva sagged down to the floor, her grip on the doorframe the only thing preventing her from face-planting. She landed awkwardly on her bad leg, letting out a strangled sob as a sharp bolt of pain shot up the limb - not because of the tortuous sensation itself, but because its presence meant that this was no longer a bad dream she needed to wake up from; _this...was...real_.

Trish was in front of her now, kneeling down in front of her, grabbing the silver-eyed Diva by the shoulders and shaking her. She was still talking; Elektra could make out a few of the words this time: "-E? _E_! What is it? _What__'__s __wrong_-"

Elektra blinked, trying to summon up enough bodily control to at least mimic the motions of talking - and then, all at once, both the room and Trish seemed to dissolve away, and she could see Eddie standing in front of her as clear as day, laughing and joking like always-

_Is __this __YOUR __mamacita?..._

_ -_his flashing eyes, his infectious smile, the rich warmth of his voice-

_All __I __have __to __say __is, __homes..._

_ -_and how it didn't seem possible-

..._not __bad_...

-that she was never going to see or hear them ever again.

Elektra let her head loll forward, her pale eyes dully staring ahead and straight through Trish. As she did, a single irrational notion flitted through her mind; one which would mercifully depart as rapidly as it had materialized:

_The __secret...MY __secret...it __killed __him..._

And then all coherent thought ceased as the gray-eyed Diva fainted.

* * *

The Animal drew in a deep labored breath as he struggled to compose himself. Tear stains glistened on his sharply-hewn features. Next to him, Elektra stared listlessly toward an unseen point in space, her own face a portrait of shell-shocked misery.

Dave exhaled heavily, turning with a sort of resigned reluctance toward the unblinking red light of the camera. His voice was soft and strained, quavering with barely contained emotion. "I woke up this morning, and got a call from Dr. Rios...and he told me that Eddie was dead."

At this, the World Heavyweight Champion's voice broke, fresh tears rolling down his face. He looked away, and Elektra quickly reached over to grasp his hand in both of hers. Her touch seemed to steady Dave, and he was able to regain enough control over himself to continue: "It...it just didn't seem _real_."

He sniffed loudly. "We had become...really close, and uh, he's really helped me out of some tough spots - helped me through some personal problems I was going through; trying to keep my head on straight-"

The Animal kept talking, but Elektra tuned out, the soothing rumble of Dave's voice fading into an unintelligible murmur. It wasn't that she didn't want to hear what her fiancee had to say about his recently departed friend - it was just that the silver-eyed Diva was finding it increasingly hard to focus on _anything_.

_Recently __departed. __Deceased. __Dead. _It didn't seem possible that these were the adjectives now being used to describe the vibrant, larger-than-life individual that was Eddie Guerrero. Less than a week ago, he had been sitting next to her on her chaise lounge - now, all of a sudden, he was no longer a presence, but a past tense. Now...he no longer _was_.

Elektra felt like she was trapped in a waking nightmare; one which consisted of only two states of being - tears, and the raw aching silences in between. She didn't know which one was worse, either - sobbing until her stomach was in knots and she couldn't breathe, or finally calming down enough to feel that numb void inside her chest where her heart used to be, as though the organ had been pulverized and ground to powder.

She had never experienced grief like this; like a bottomless black void within her soul that seemed to go on without end. She wondered if escape from this sensation was even possible. More than that...she wondered how she could have been so stupid and selfish to want to force this emotion onto everyone else by trying to kill herself.

The halting timbre of Dave's voice jarred her back to the present: "-the thing I loved about Eddie the most was he was _so __damn __funny_!" The World Heavyweight Champion let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, shaking his head. "He would just _kill_ you - that's why I loved working with him. And, uh-"

He paused, and Elektra felt him squeeze her hand reassuringly before going on. "-it amazed me, 'cause it always seemed like he was in such pain - but as soon as he walked through that curtain, it just seemed like all the pain went away. You'd never know by looking at him that he was struggling physically, 'cause he loved being out there; loved being in front of the fans-"

The Animal's voice cracked, and he broke down, hunching his shoulders as he wept quietly. Elektra's face crumbled, and she wrapped her arms around her fiancee, burying her face in his bicep as she began to cry as well. Dave turned slightly, pulling her into his embrace, holding her tight against his chest.

Off to the side, Stephanie McMahon bit her lip, looking down at the floor as she struggled to blink away her own tears. Glancing up at the cameraman, she drew her hand across her throat in a slashing motion, indicating that he should stop. The crew member obliged, and the red recording light slowly faded out.

The Billion Dollar Princess hugged herself with both arms, quietly clearing her throat. At the soft sound, the couple pulled apart, sniffing and swallowing back their tears. Stephanie's pale blue irises were focused on Elektra, and the silver-eyed Diva was struck by how haggard and utterly lost the former SmackDown GM looked, as though she was merely going through the motions of existing.

Stephanie cleared her throat once again, pressing her fist against her mouth for a moment before speaking. "Elektra?" Her voice sounded as weary as she looked; tight and strained, as though it might crack at any moment. "Do _you_ want to say...something about Eddie?"

For a long moment, the gray-eyed Diva stared mutely back at her, as though she hadn't understood the question. Finally, she nodded, her head feeling too heavy and unwieldy for her neck to support. "Sure..." Her tone was soft, distracted, as though she was only half-in this particular plane of existence.

The Billion Dollar Princess nodded at the cameraman, and a second later, the red light came on again. Elektra stared at it, trying to focus only on it, trying to distance herself from the quagmire of her own emotions long enough to get the words out in some kind of coherent order. "Eddie-"

_Every __time __I __see __you, __querida...you __look __so __sad...and __it __breaks __my __heart, __because __you __should __be __so __happy..._

The silver-eyed Diva's voice faltered. She licked her lips, tried again: "Eddie-"

_You __think...that __if __you __just __smile __and __put __on __a __happy __face...we __won__'__t __see __how __much __you__'__re __suffering..._

Elektra hesitated a second time, dropping her gaze down to her lap. Dave wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leaning over to kiss her temple. "It's all right, baby," he murmured into her hair. "Just tell us a story; say what you remember best about him."

The gray-eyed Diva nodded and slowly lifted her head, gazing up into the unblinking black eye of the camera lens. Her jaw was trembling, making it hard to get the words out: "What I remember the most about Eddie is-"

_You __are __strong, __querida __- __much __stronger __than __you __think..._

With a low cry, Elektra burst into tears again. "I'm sorry!" the silver-eyed Diva sobbed. "I can't...I can't-" Her words dissolved into meaningless syllables as she continued to weep. Through her haze of anguish, she could feel Dave's strong arms around her; could feel his hands on her hair. Elektra pressed her face against his chest, soaking the front of his white pullover with her tears as she cried.

She could sense another presence at her side - Stephanie, kneeling down in front of her, reaching to comfortingly rub her leg. "It's okay," the Billion Dollar Princess whispered, her own voice quiet and thick with tears. "It's okay - I know that it's hard..."

After a while, Elektra's sobs quieted to occasional hiccups, and she lifted her head, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. The former SmackDown GM gnawed on her lower lip, tears pooling in her eyes. "Just so you know - we're planning on having a Battle Royale for the Divas during tonight's show." Stephanie lifted her gaze. "It's completely voluntary, so if you don't feel up to performing-"

"No..." Elektra gently interjected; her voice soft, but full of a resolute calm. "No...I _want_ to."

Her pale silvery irises bore steadily into the Billion Dollar Princess's blue ones. "_Eddie_...would have wanted me to."

Stephanie said nothing; merely bobbed her head up and down in a curt nod of affirmation, pressing her lips tightly together in an attempt to keep from breaking down completely. The gray-eyed Diva felt Dave's strong arm loop around her shoulders once again. "Come on, E," the World Heavyweight Champion murmured. "I'll take you there,"

Slowly, the couple rose to their feet, walking out of the small staging area set up for interview vignettes, heading in the direction of the locker rooms. Elektra leaned heavily against the Animal for support; she could barely feel her feet making contact with the ground beneath them. Tears streamed freely down her face, dripping off her chin, plopping onto her shirt, but she made no move to wipe them away.

Normally, backstage at a Monday Night Raw night broadcast was an environment filled with bustling activity, conversation, and laughter - but tonight, none of those things were present. Crew members and technicians still scurried back and forth, preparing for the show, but their movements were mechanical and without enthusiasm. Superstars and Divas could be seen lining the walls, but instead of stretching or doing any of the other numerous tasks they performed to prepare for a match, they were huddled in tightly clumped groups or by themselves, saying nothing, staring vacantly into space.

If this was in fact just a nightmare, then it was the worst kind of nightmare because it seemed to have infected everyone else as well. Every person they passed seemed to have been reduced to a dull, muted echo of their former selves, and it didn't seem possible that there was a whole great world outside of this arena; one that had never heard of Eddie Guerrero or his legacy, and was carrying on as though nothing had happened.

The World Heavyweight Champion ground to a sudden halt, and Elektra realized that they had arrived at the women's locker room. Dave slowly rotated his body around to face her, reaching out with both arms to encircle her waist and pull her gently toward him. "I'm going...to head to the locker room for a bit, but I'll be back before your match, I _promise_."

The silver-eyed Diva slowly nodded. "Okay..." she replied dumbly, not really knowing what else to say.

The Animal stared at her for a moment before abruptly grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her into a hard, passionate kiss. Elektra was stunned, but only for a second as emotion overtook thought and she returned the kiss, clinging to Dave. She could feel her fiancee's lips moving over hers, _devouring_ hers - and she could feel his passion, his _desperation_; the sort of frenzied fire that blazes up whenever two individuals are faced with the finality of death and the transience of mortality.

The two eventually pulled apart, gasping for breath. Dave held Elektra's face in his hands, gazing tenderly into her pale irises. "_I __love __you_," he whispered roughly, and even though he had never uttered those words without meaning them, the gray-eyed Diva knew that _this_ time, he truly meant every syllable.

Elektra swallowed hard, feeling hot tears spill down her cheeks. "I love you, too," she murmured. Reluctantly extricating herself from the Animal's embrace, she pushed open the door to the locker room and stepped inside.

At first glance, the changing area appeared to be empty, and the silver-eyed Diva heaved a soft sigh of relief, grateful that whatever higher powers existed had granted her this small mercy. But as she turned the corner to where the makeup mirrors were located, Elektra realized that she had offered her gratitude too soon - because not only was the room occupied...but it was occupied by the _last_ person she wanted to see right now.

Melina hummed to herself as she dabbed sparkly lip gloss onto her lower lip. That accomplished, she turned one way, then the other, studying her reflection critically in the mirror, tugging her low-cut top down to reveal just a little bit more of her ample cleavage.

The gray-eyed Diva stopped dead, staring at her SmackDown counterpart in disbelief. Right now, she wasn't even sure if she was wearing matching _socks_; she had stopped wearing makeup because she would inevitably just cry it off. Melina, on the other hand - with her gold-and-black top and her short denim skirt, her hair perfectly styled - looked as though she had just stepped off a fashion runway.

More than that, though...she looked downright _chipper_, as though this was just another day at work for her; as though she was completely obvious to the aura of sadness hanging over the entire arena. Elektra sucked in a breath, feeling a low hot throb of anger course through her. She knew that different people handled grief in different way...but _this_...

_This_...bordered on disrespectful.

The Dominant Diva looked over, catching Elektra's eye in the reflection of the mirror. She smiled, fluttering one manicured hand in a wave. "Hey, E!"

The effervescence of her tone ground even more on the gray-eyed Diva's already raw nerves, and she looked away without replying, striding across the room to where her suitcase was located and unzipping it with a vengeance.

Melina watched her yank out articles of clothing and throw them down onto the bench for a few seconds, before eventually shrugging. "All right, then..." She turned back toward the mirror, reaching up with one finger to delicately flick her lashes. "I guess you're really broken up about Eddie, huh?" The Dominant Diva shrugged a second time. "It _is_ a tragedy...but then again, I hear he was a former drug addict, so I guess it was only inevitable."

Elektra clenched her teeth so hard that it hurt, trying to block out the persistent whine of Melina's voice. She grabbed her makeup case, opening it up and rooting through its contents for the most waterproof mascara she could find.

Her fingers had just closed around the tube in question when she heard the SmackDown Diva add in an almost casual tone: "-at least Eddie had the _decency_ to die like a _man_ - he didn't choose the _easy_ way out...like _some_ people_.__"_

The silver-eyed Diva froze, tube of mascara still in hand, Melina's words cutting through her haze of grief like a hot knife through butter. She wasn't sure whether she had heard or merely _imagined_ the scornful emphasis in the Dominant Diva's tone - all she knew was that, when the anger surged up in her again, she didn't bother to tamp it down this time.

Throwing down the makeup case and the mascara, Elektra closed the distance between them in a few strides, grabbing the other Diva's shoulder and whirling her violently around. Melina yelped in surprise, the sound dying away into a muffled squeak as her frightened dark eyes met Elektra's pale ones; glittering with a cold fury.

The gray-eyed Diva's words were as clipped and pointed as shards of ice: "Say it again - I _dare _you._"_

Melina frowned, her face creased with fear and bewilderment. "What?" she stammered. "I don't...understand-"

"You heard me," Elektra interjected brusquely. "_Say __it __again_. _Say __it __to...my...face_." The Dominant Diva said nothing; merely stared mutely at her Raw counterpart...but Elektra thought she saw a spark of malicious challenge in Melina's dark irises- as she was saying: _Why __don__'__t __you __fucking __MAKE __ME?_

Elektra glared at her...and in the back of her mind, she felt _something_; some small node of self-control, abruptly snap. The silver-eyed Diva's lids narrowed to tiny slits. "You...hypocritical..._bitch_." she spat.

With a shrill shriek, she grabbed Melina by the hair, yanking the startled Diva forward and throwing her down onto the floor. There was a muffled OOF as all the air was driven out of the Dominant Diva's lungs. Elektra didn't stop there, however - dropping down, she drove her knees into Melina's back and shoulder blade, grabbing her arm and wrenching it straight backward as hard as she could.

The SmackDown Diva screamed in pain, thrashing around on the cement floor as she struggled to locate enough leverage to break the hold. Elektra didn't release the pressure, however, but continued to yank back with all her strength.

In the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware that she was on the verge of dislocating Melina's arm, perhaps breaking it, and that she should probably stop before any serious physical damage was done. But the silver-eyed Diva didn't care. Right now, all she wanted to do was tear something apart; to break it down until it felt as empty and shattered as she did - because it wasn't fair; _it __just __wasn__'__t __fair_-

"Elektra! What the hell are you doing?"

Through the veneer of red that had inexplicably clamped down over her vision, Elektra became cognizant of someone grabbing her arms, dragging her forcibly up and off of Melina.

The gray-eyed Diva struggled to free herself. "Let _go_ of me-" She tore free of the other person's grip, whirling around - her angry retort instantly dying on her lips as she saw that it was Trish who had stopped her.

The Women's Champion looked from her to the mewling form of Melina, then back again, her brows coming together in a frown. She tentatively stepped forward, reaching out to grasp Elektra's upper arms. "E, what the hell is _wrong_ with you-"

The gray-eyed Diva jerked away from her touch, staring down at Melina. The Dominant Diva rolled over onto her back, grabbing her injured arm with her good one as she wailed in pain.

Elektra flicked her gaze back up toward Trish, her expression closing down into a blank, unreadable mask. "Nothing's wrong," she replied, her voice betraying only the slightest quaver of the emotion contained within her. "I'm fine."

The silver-eyed Diva glanced up toward the doorway. Other Divas had materialized by now - Candice, Victoria, Christy Hemme. All of them were staring at her warily, as though she was a time bomb about two seconds away from detonation.

Elektra stared at them wordlessly, her jaw twitching slightly as she gritted her teeth. Already, the rage in her gaze was dying away; her eyes becoming as dull and lifeless as dirty pieces of glass. "_I__'__m __fine_," she repeated, a little more forcibly this time. Without waiting for a response, she strode through the crowd of Divas, exiting out into the hall.

No one tried to stop her.

* * *

Dave trudged slowly down the hall, his dark eyes staring wearily ahead without really seeing anything. He had been looking for Elektra ever since the conclusion of the Divas' Battle Royale, but so far, had been unable to locate her. His lack of success was more his fault than hers - he was finding it hard to focus on his surroundings, and more than once, had caught himself wandering in circles.

Truthfully, though, the World Heavyweight Champion didn't much care. There was no way to accurately describe this feeling inside of him - he doubted that anyone _could __- _but it was...as though some part of his soul had died along with Eddie, and now, he didn't know how to function anymore. The only thing he wanted at this point was to find his fiancee, hold her close, pull the covers over them, and let this aching miasma of grief wash over them both.

In a way, he could understand why Elektra took pills to dull the pain...because he would have given anything to be numb right now.

The soft sound of feminine weeping cut through Dave's thoughts, halting his already sluggish pace. The World Heavyweight Champion looked around, trying to ascertain its source - the noise seemed to be coming from around a corner up ahead, where a T-junction turned into a dead end.

Carefully, the Animal made his way to the corner, peeking around its edge. His sharp-featured face immediately sagged in disappointment when he saw that the weeping individual was not his fiancee (as he had hoped), but instead, MNM's manager, tears rolling down her perfectly made up face.

Dave drew back, not wanting to intrude on her privacy, but as he did, the memory of his conversation with Melina at the hotel breakfast bar washed over him, causing him to hesitate-

_I __think __that __you...out __of __everyone __else __on __the __roster...understands __what __it__'__s __like __to __have __no one __believe __in __you..._

_ Maybe...in that way...you and I aren't all that different..._

_ If you ever need...someone to talk to...you can always come to me..._

The World Heavyweight Champion sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Taking a deep breath, he turned around, and ducked into the dead end, advancing slowly toward the Dominant Diva. "Melina."

MNM's manager looked up sharply, swiping hastily at her eyes and forcing a wan smile onto her face at the sight of the Animal. "Dave! Hi!"

Dave jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "If...you want to be left alone, I can always-"

"No, no!" The SmackDown Diva quickly waved off the suggestion. "It's okay - I'm glad you're here." Another ghost of a smile. "I really need...someone to talk to."

"Sure thing," Dave moved further into the space, until he was standing next to the Dominant Diva. "By the way...congratulations on your win tonight."

Melina let out a sardonic laugh. "Thanks - too bad it doesn't mean anything. I'm a _SmackDown _Diva - it's not like I'll get to wrestle for the title anytime soon." She looked away, her cheeks flushing. "I bet you think I'm some kind of cold-hearted bitch - thinking about the title at a time like this."

The World Heavyweight Champion shrugged. "Not really; I think you're just like the rest of us - you're trying to find a way to deal with what's going on." He tentatively reached out, putting his hand on her shoulder - and was shocked to see her instantly jerk it away with a pain-filled hiss.

MNM's manager glanced up, noting the Animal's stunned countenance. "Sorry," she remarked apologetically. "It's just...my shoulder's _killing _me. I really should go to the trainer's-"

"Yeah, no kidding," Dave remarked absently. Now that she had drawn attention to it, he could see the injured area in question. There was an enormous bruise on her shoulder blade, near the arm socket - it looked as though someone had tried to wring her arm off. The World Heavyweight Champion let out a low whistle. "Jesus Christ...that happen during the match?"

Melina immediately stiffened, turning her back to him, absently reaching up to massage her injured shoulder. "No, it was-" She stopped. "It's nothing."

"Nothing?" Dave replied dubiously. "No offense, but you don't get a bruise like that from walking into a door-"

The Dominant Diva retreated back a step, hugging herself with both arms. "It's nothing," she repeated. As Dave watched, a fearful look stole across her face. "Look, I don't want to cause trouble-"

"Who's causing trouble?" the Animal interjected. "All I'm asking is who tried to rip your arm off-" He paused, a look of abrupt dark anger drifting across his features as a horrific notion suddenly occurred to him. "Wait...Nitro or Mercury..._they_ didn't do this, did they?"

Melina's mouth dropped open. "_What_? No, _no_! Those two would _never_ lay a _hand _on me!" The SmackDown Diva hesitated, shooting a furtive look at the main corridor before continuing, her voice barely above a whisper: "_It __was __Elektra_."

The World Heavyweight Champion felt as though the Big Show had just punched him full-force in the stomach. "_E _did that?" he managed to say, his voice strained and full of effort.

Melina nodded miserably. "We were in the locker room, I said _something_ - I don't even remember _what_ I said - and all of a sudden, she just went _crazy_. She attacked me, knocked me down - I mean, if Trish hadn't showed up at that minute and pulled her off me, she would have broken my arm-"

MNM's manager stopped, her full lips trembling, tears welling up in her dark eyes. "I'm...sorry; I shouldn't have anything. With everything that's going on-"

"Yes, you should of," Dave gently took hold of the SmackDown Diva's arm, preventing her from leaving. He gently grasped her shoulders, staring seriously down at her. "We're all under a lot of stress right now, we're all grieving - but E was out of line." He gave Melina's uninjured shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I'll talk to her - at the very least, she owes you an apology."

The Dominant Diva didn't look convinced, however, and as Dave watched, fresh tears trickled down her cheeks one by one. The Animal sighed. "Christ...come here," With that, he pulled the Dominant Diva to him, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting hug. He heard Melina utter a sharp hiccuping sob, and then felt her arms snake up around his back, her fingertips digging into his shirt.

For just a few heartbeats of time - fractions of seconds - Dave was acutely aware of her proximity to him; of how she felt nestled in his arms. The firm curves of her body, the warm softness of her skin, the subtleness of her scent...In the next, however, all awareness was washed away as he once more gave into his grief.

He couldn't see Melina's face, so he never saw her forlorn expression morph into one of icy cunning; never saw her full lips curve upward in a wickedly satisfied smile. He also never saw the figure standing at the mouth of the dead end, silently watching them both.

John Cena's countenance hardened, his strong features tightening with anger. Without uttering a word, or taking his gaze off the embracing pair, he sidled back out of sight.


End file.
